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Chapter 788
Chapter 788:
“Mr. Daron,” Isolde said. Her voice was not loud, but it carried a razor-sharp frequency that sliced through the air. “Before you use your elementary-school financial vocabulary to judge aerospace engineering, I suggest you pull up InnoTech’s price-to-sales ratio p>
Daron’s smug smile vanished instantly. His face went rigid.
“And while you’re at it,” Isolde continued, her eyes locking onto his with absolute dominance, “you might want to verify those fraudulent patent application numbers you just underwrote p>
Daron opened his mouth. His throat clicked dry. The precision of the financial terminology hit him like a blow to the gut, and he couldn’t formulate a single word in response.
𝖱𝘰𝗆а𝘯𝗰𝖾 𝘯𝗼𝘷e𝗹𝗌 on ѕ.с𝗼𝗆
Isolde slowly turned her head and locked eyes with Belle.
The false empathy on Belle’s face began to crack.
Isolde reached out and smoothly lifted a crystal flute of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray.
“As for you, Miss Escobar,” she said, her voice dropping to a silky, lethal whisper. “Did your K Street lawyers forget to mention the penalty for submitting a perjured affidavit to a federal judge p>
Belle’s breath hitched violently. The color drained rapidly from her cheeks, leaving her looking like a wax doll.
“It carries a maximum sentence of twenty years in a federal penitentiary,” Isolde stated clearly.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Reporters shoved their recorders aggressively closer.
Belle’s hands began to shake. She dug her fingernails into her palms, desperately clinging to her crumbling façade.
“Are you threatening me?” Belle sneered, her voice trembling at the edges. “Slandering me without proof will only add to your civil damages, Isolde p>
Isolde let out a soft, chilling laugh. She swirled the champagne gently in her glass and looked at Belle with an expression of profound, absolute pity.
“Proof?” she whispered. “You are about to find out exactly what you are facing p>
At that precise moment, the heavy brass doors at the entrance of the banquet hall were shoved violently open.
A blast of cold air swept into the room, carrying with it an aura of absolute, terrifying authority.
Alistair Lancaster walked through the doors—but he was not leading. He walked slightly behind a tall, broad-shouldered man in a severe dark navy suit, a man with a rigid military posture and eyes that looked capable of cutting through steel.
Director Daron turned his head.
The instant he recognized the man’s face, the crystal glass slipped from his fingers. It shattered on the marble floor, splashing bourbon in every direction. Daron’s face turned the color of ash.
It was Secretary Warren from the Department of Defense Advanced Procurement Committee.
Belle didn’t know who he was. But she saw the absolute terror on Daron’s face, and a cold, heavy knot of dread formed instantly in the pit of her stomach.
Isolde stood perfectly still.
She looked at Secretary Warren and gave a single, slow nod—the nod of a commander acknowledging her general.
In the shadows near the bar, Grayson watched the silent exchange. His pupils dilated in pure, unadulterated shock.
His lungs seized. He realized, with sudden and devastating clarity, that the game wasn’t simply over.
It had never been a game at all.
Secretary Warren did not pause.
