Chapter 111
Chapter 111:
Through the extreme compression of the long lens, every yard of physical distance between June and Easton was erased. The image captured the precise moment her back met his chest — his arm wrapped firmly around her waist. In the flat, two-dimensional frame, it looked exactly like a passionate, clandestine embrace between two lovers.
The investigator studied the glowing preview screen. A greedy smile spread across his face. He connected the camera to his laptop and sent the encrypted file to his clients: Richard and Susan Beasley.
Miles away, in a modest house on Long Island, rain lashed against the windows.
Richard and Susan were pacing the living room, still furious over the viral footage of Alycia being publicly humiliated at the summit. The computer on the desk chimed with an incoming email. Susan crossed to it and clicked the attachment.
The high-resolution photograph filled the screen.
Her eyes went wide. She let out a loud, victorious gasp. “Richard! Look at this p>
Richard came over and stared at the image of June in another man’s arms. Pure, toxic greed detonated in his chest.
“This is it!” he shouted, slamming his fist on the desk. “This triggers the morality clause in the prenuptial agreement. If she is caught cheating, she gets thrown out with absolutely nothing p>
𝗥е𝖺𝖽 𝗳𝗿om yоur 𝗽𝘩one o𝘯 ѕ.𝗰𝘰m
Susan’s eyes gleamed. “And once that gold digger is ruined, the Compton family will have to take Alycia back just to save face p>
They did not stop to consider the context of the photograph. They saw only a weapon — one they believed could extract millions from the Compton trust and rescue their failing construction business. Richard printed the photo without hesitation, shoved it into a thick brown envelope, and headed for the door.
Back in the garage, June waved goodbye to Easton and stepped into the private elevator. The doors slid shut.
Easton remained beside his car and watched them close. After a moment, he raised his right hand and looked at the palm that had caught her. A faint, unreadable smile touched his lips.
His eyes moved slowly across the garage, scanning the shadows.
As he reached for his door handle, the motion-activated security light above the dark van flickered on for a fraction of a second. In that brief, harsh burst of light, he caught the distinct, unmistakable glint of a telephoto lens.
Easton did not shout. He did not give chase.
He simply got into his car and closed the door.
If someone was foolish enough to use a fabricated photograph to attack June, Easton intended to enjoy dismantling them in a federal courtroom.
On the Long Island Expressway, Richard drove his sedan recklessly through the pouring rain, Susan in the passenger seat with the brown envelope pressed against her chest. They were heading straight for the Hamptons Estate, driving at full speed directly into the jaws of something they were not remotely equipped to understand.
The next morning.
The heavy iron gates of the Hamptons Estate swung open.
Richard and Susan Beasley stood in the grand foyer, their cheap coats dripping rainwater onto the marble floor. Richard had demanded an emergency audience, claiming to possess information that threatened the Compton family’s survival.
Mrs. Lynch, the head housekeeper, regarded them with barely concealed disgust before leading them into the main living room.