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Chapter 704
Chapter 704:
This was not isolated corporate espionage. It was a coordinated financial execution. Someone was attempting to steal her code, engineer a catastrophic failure in the DARPA project, and profit enormously by shorting the market when the news broke.
She closed the laptop and slid it into her Faraday-caged briefcase, snapping the clasps shut with a sharp, final click.
“Let us go downstairs, Maxwell,” Isolde said, her voice turning to pure ice. “I want to see exactly who is waiting in Boston to watch me burn p>
Soft cello music drifted through the VIP lounge on the ground floor of the Four Seasons. The room was designed for absolute discretion — high-backed leather booths separated by tall, dense tropical plants.
Director Daron sat deep in a corner booth, holding a dry martini. His expensive tailored suit could not conceal the greasy, predatory aura that surrounded him.
Belle Escobar walked into the lounge in a loud, heavily branded Chanel suit. She looked nervous, her eyes darting across the room as she slid into the booth across from him.
Daron took a slow sip of his martini. He looked at her with undisguised contempt.
“What kind of amateur hour are you running, Belle?” Daron hissed, his voice carrying the sharp, aggressive edge of a Wall Street bully. “I heard about your scene at the club last night. You let Grayson drag you around like a lapdog p>
Belle bit her lower lip. She had no desire to admit that Isolde had publicly dismantled her.
R𝘰𝗆an𝖼𝘦 ո𝘰𝘷𝘦𝗅ѕ 𝗼𝘯
“Grayson is just stressed,” Belle said smoothly. “His supply chains are a mess p>
Daron let out a harsh, mocking snort.
“Grayson is a dead man walking. He has no cash flow,” Daron sneered, leaning forward and dropping his voice. “And our technical team failed last night. They pulled fourteen percent of the data before the connection died. It is entirely useless garbage code p>
Belle’s eyes widened. “How is that possible? Isolde is just a socialite who buys expensive bags. She doesn’t know anything about counter-surveillance p>
Daron rolled his eyes, reached into his pocket for a silver case, and lit a thick cigar.
“She is with Maxwell Hayes,” Daron stated, blowing a cloud of grey smoke across the table. “That military man probably noticed the rig. There is no way a woman like her is actually running the Sophia architecture. She is a figurehead p>
He leaned back, a nasty smirk twisting his lips.
“She trades access for opportunity,” Daron continued, his voice dripping with filth. “Pentagon suits, Hayes — that is how she secures the DARPA contracts. Her technical papers are written by ghostwriters p>
Belle felt a twisted, ugly gratification hearing Isolde degraded. It soothed her own inadequacy.
“Exactly,” Belle agreed eagerly. “She is a complete fraud. She couldn’t pass a basic engineering exam p>
Daron tapped his cigar ash into the crystal tray. His eyes went cold and flat.
“Since we cannot steal the code cleanly,” Daron said, his voice dropping to a lethal register, “we move to Plan B. We need a physical delay. If Isolde suffers a severe accident today and ends up in a hospital bed for two weeks, the DARPA contract automatically defaults. I have journalists ready to publish the failure the moment it does p>