Chapter 285
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Chapter 285:
Less than five minutes later, the wail of sirens cut through the city noise. Two NYPD patrol cars swerved to the curb, red and blue lights strobing against the glass facade of the hotel. Four officers stepped out and walked in a straight line toward Kieran, hands resting casually on their service weapons.
The lead officer — a man with a thick neck and cold eyes — stopped two feet away.
“Sir, I need to see your identification,” he said. “What is your business here p>
Kieran flinched. “I am waiting for Jocelyn Collins,” he said, his voice cracking. “This is a private matter. Tell your men to back off p>
The officer let out a dry, humorless laugh. He pulled a tablet from his utility belt and tapped the screen.
“I have a digital file submitted by the legal team of Gaston Collins,” the officer said, loudly enough for passing pedestrians to hear. “It includes a formal warning for stalking and harassment. You are loitering on private property p>
The word stalking hit Kieran like a blow. His face flushed dark red.
𝖶e 𝘂р𝖽a𝘁e 𝘦v𝖾𝗿у 𝘄𝗲𝘦𝘬 о𝘯
“I am Kieran Douglas!” he shouted, stepping toward the officer. “You cannot talk to me like some street trash p>
The officer didn’t blink. With practiced efficiency, he seized Kieran’s right arm, twisted it behind his back, and shoved him forward. Kieran’s chest slammed against the freezing metal hood of the patrol car. The impact knocked the wind from him. His cheek pressed flat against the icy steel.
Pedestrians stopped. Dozens of phones came out, recording everything.
Kieran closed his eyes. The humiliation burned like acid in his stomach. He was a billionaire tech mogul pinned to a police car like a common criminal.
“You have two choices, Mr. Douglas,” the officer growled, leaning his weight onto Kieran’s back. “You walk away right now, or I put you in handcuffs and you spend the night in a holding cell p>
Kieran bit down on his lower lip until he tasted blood. “I will leave,” he whispered into the cold metal.
The officer released him. Kieran stumbled backward, kept his eyes down, and walked away — shoulders hunched, utterly defeated.
Up on the executive floor of the hotel, the atmosphere was equally tense.
Carmen sat behind her desk, which was buried under stacks of complex tax documents. She pressed her fingers against her temples, fighting a mounting headache.
Across from her sat Director Lynn, a senior IRS auditor — heavy-set, cheap suit, greasy smile. He licked his thumb and turned a page in the file containing Carmen’s personal asset declarations.
“Ms. Golden,” Lynn said, dragging out the syllables. “I am looking at a very large, very vague overseas medical expense from seven years ago. The documentation is… lacking p>
Carmen’s stomach dropped. Her hands clenched into fists beneath the desk. That expense was the emergency surgery in Europe — the one where she had nearly lost her life.
She kept her face completely blank. “That was a private medical emergency during a vacation. It has absolutely nothing to do with corporate taxes p>
Lynn leaned forward, resting his elbows on her desk and invading her space. His voice dropped to a low, greasy murmur.