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Chapter 342
Chapter 342:
The tension in the air was so thick it felt like moving through wet concrete. Brokers and assistants in the adjacent glass-walled offices stopped typing and pressed their faces to the glass, watching the collision of the Compton titans like a live gladiator match.
They met exactly in the center of the corridor. There was nowhere to turn. There was nowhere to hide.
Alycia stopped walking. She raised her champagne flute slightly, the crystal catching the overhead light, and let a vicious, mocking smile stretch across her face.
“Oh, my apologies, Mrs. Compton,” Alycia said, her voice dripping with false innocence. “We didn’t mean to block your path. We were just celebrating. We just finalized the signatures p>
𝖩𝗼і𝘯 𝘁𝘩𝗼𝘶s𝘢ոd𝗌 𝗼𝘧 𝗳𝗮𝘯𝘀 on ѕ.𝗰𝘰𝘮
Cole stepped forward, closing the distance.
He raised the black iPad and turned the glowing screen directly into June’s line of sight.
Displayed on it was the final, legally binding hold agreement for the “Crown of Poseidon” estate. At the bottom of the document, Cole’s aggressive, slashing digital signature was rendered in bright blue ink.
It was a visual execution.
“Game over, June,” Cole stated, his voice cold, hard, and devoid of mercy. “You have nowhere else to go. The estate belongs to us now p>
He waited for her reaction. He waited for June’s eyes to fill with tears — for her to scream, to slap him, to show any sign that he still had the power to break her heart.
June looked at the glowing screen. She processed the signature.
Then she slowly raised her eyes and looked directly into Cole’s face.
There was no anger. There was no devastation.
Her eyes held only a pure, profound pity. She looked at him the way a scientist looks at a diseased, dying rat in a cage — a billionaire throwing a temper tantrum, using a house to force a reaction from a woman who no longer cared whether he lived or died.
The freezing weight of her pity hit Cole like a blow to the chest. The triumphant smirk on his face collapsed instantly. His stomach twisted. Her silence was a million times more agonizing than her screams could ever have been.
Beside June, Old Mrs. Compton looked at the iPad, then at the champagne flute in Alycia’s hand.
The old woman’s lips began to tremble. Her grip on her cane tightened until the wood groaned.
The storm clouds broke. The hurricane had arrived.
The suffocating silence in the VIP corridor reached an absolute breaking point.
Old Mrs. Compton stood frozen, her eyes locked onto the digital signature on Cole’s iPad. The trembling in her lips suddenly stopped. A terrifying, unnatural calm washed over her frail features.
Down the hallway, the doors of the glass-walled offices cracked open. Highly paid Wall Street brokers and real estate attorneys poked their heads out, their eyes wide with morbid curiosity. They were witnessing the live detonation of the Compton family dynasty.
Old Mrs. Compton completely ignored the audience. She did not look at Alycia. She did not look at the Beasleys.
She slowly raised her chin, fixing her pale, icy eyes entirely on Cole.