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Chapter 487
Chapter 487:
He pulled out the stack of documents. The first page bore a bright red stamp across the top: SEVERE POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER. HIGH SUICIDE RISK.
Cole’s stomach cramped violently. He forced himself to turn the page.
He began reading the chief psychiatrist’s preliminary diagnostic notes, transcribed from initial interviews with a heavily sedated June. Every word was a direct window into her subconscious.
Patient repeatedly murmurs about a phone call.
Quote: “He hung up. The blood wouldn’t stop. My baby is gone. Why didn’t he answer p>
Cole’s vision blurred. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead.
Quote: “The house is a tomb. He hates me. I am just a ghost in his apartment p>
Quote: “Snowball is the only thing that doesn’t look at me with disgust. If they take her, I have no reason to stay alive. I have nothing p>
Every sentence landed like a blow across his face.
𝘞e 𝗎p𝗱𝘢𝘁𝗲 𝘦𝗏е𝗿y 𝗐𝗲е𝗸 𝗼n
He read the clinical description of her panic attacks. He read the notes detailing her severe malnutrition and chronic insomnia, all directly linked to the emotional abuse she had endured throughout their marriage.
He had not simply been a bad husband. He had been a systematic torturer — stripping away her dignity, her child, her health, and finally, her will to live.
The papers slipped from his fingers and scattered across the linoleum floor.
Cole bent forward and buried his face in his hands. His broad shoulders began to shake. A low, agonizing sob tore out of his throat. He wept in the empty hallway, the sound swallowed by the sterile walls around him.
He cried for ten minutes — until his throat ached and his eyes had nothing left to give.
When he finally lifted his head, the crushing grief was gone. In its place was something cold, dead, and absolute.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed the direct emergency line for his Chief Operating Officer at the Compton Group.
“Listen to me very carefully,” Cole said. His voice was completely devoid of emotion — the voice of a machine calibrated for destruction.
“Cancel the acquisition of the Beasley logistics firm p>
The COO drew a sharp breath. “Sir, we have already signed the preliminary contracts. Pulling out without completing the penalty phase will trigger a massive breach of contract lawsuit. It will cost us tens of millions p>
“I don’t care if it costs a billion,” Cole said flatly. “Tear up the contracts. I want it done publicly. I want the market to know we are abandoning them p>
He stood, crushing one of the scattered psychiatric pages beneath his leather shoe.
“Next,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Call the bank. Withdraw every cent of the trust backing we provided for their corporate loans. Trigger the default clauses p>
“Mr. Compton, that will instantly bankrupt them,” the COO warned. “They will be insolvent by tomorrow morning p>
“I want them insolvent by midnight,” Cole said. “I want them bleeding in the street. Do it now p>
He hung up. He stared at the blank wall in front of him.