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Chapter 687
Chapter 687:
It was a masterclass in toxic manipulation — appearing to defend Isolde while simultaneously cementing the slander.
Grayson looked down at Belle’s hands resting on his chest. A sudden, intense wave of physical revulsion moved through him.
He grabbed her wrists and shoved her hands away, pushing her back hard enough that she stumbled against the coffee table.
“Get out,” Grayson commanded, his voice filling the glass-walled office.
Yо𝗎𝘳 ո𝖾x𝘁 𝗳𝖺vorі𝗍𝗲 rеa𝖽 𝗂𝗌 o𝗇
Daron didn’t wait to be told twice. He seized his briefcase, abandoned his smoldering cigar in the tray, and practically ran for the door.
Belle stood frozen, her heart hammering in her throat. She had expected Grayson to be disgusted by Isolde. Instead he was reacting like a violently jealous husband defending his own territory.
“Grayson, I was only trying to p>
“I said get out!” Grayson roared, pointing at the door. “If I hear you or Daron breathe another word of this garbage in my building, I will personally liquidate your stock options and throw you onto the street p>
Belle’s face turned chalk white. She grabbed her purse and fled the room, her heels clicking frantically down the hallway.
Grayson stood alone in the office. His chest heaved. His hands trembled so badly he had to grip the edge of his desk to steady himself.
The jealousy was a physical agony — burning in his lungs, twisting in his gut.
He pressed the intercom.
“Silas,” Grayson growled. “Contact the executive security team. I want a full, retroactive GPS trace on Arland Roth’s movements for the last three months. Every hotel. Every dinner p>
He stared out the window at the Manhattan skyline, his jaw aching from the force of his clenched teeth.
He was going to find out exactly who had given Isolde that two million dollars. And when he found him, Grayson was going to destroy him.
Grayson sat at the head of the long glass table, his face an unreadable mask of corporate stone.
At the front of the room, Belle Escobar stood beside a massive digital display. Director Daron sat nearby, nodding aggressively as she spoke.
Belle was pitching a new project: the High-Energy Solid-State Battery Algorithm.
“This architecture will revolutionize drone flight times,” Belle declared, directing her laser pointer at a highly stylized, data-light graph. “InnoTech’s R&D team has cracked the thermal runaway issue. We are asking SkyLine for a thirty-million-dollar seed round to finalize the prototype p>
Several of the more conservative board members frowned, flipping through the glossy, substance-thin packets Belle had distributed.
“Ms. Escobar,” one of the older directors interrupted, “this proposal lacks any raw testing data. It is entirely theoretical. Given InnoTech’s recent supply chain difficulties, requesting thirty million dollars on the basis of a presentation is highly irregular p>
Daron slammed his hand on the table. “If we don’t fund this, Vanguard Capital will. We cannot afford to lose this patent p>
Grayson sat perfectly still. He watched Belle’s desperate, hungry eyes. He watched Daron’s aggressive posturing.