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Chapter 571
Chapter 571:
The Compton Group and the Love Group were continuing their mutual destruction. The cascading sell-offs were triggering automated panic across the broader market. Billions of dollars were disappearing with every passing minute.
Julian locked the screen and dropped the iPad onto the seat beside him. He pressed his fingers against his eyes.
The brawl at the Century Club had solved nothing. It had only accelerated the collapse. And Julian knew, with complete clarity, that there was exactly one person in New York capable of making those two men stop tearing each other apart.
The woman who was currently unreachable by anyone.
He had spent the entire night attempting to locate June. Cole’s security apparatus couldn’t get a signal on her phone, and Crawford had concealed her behind a wall of private intelligence that Julian’s network couldn’t penetrate. Every avenue he tried had closed.
Which left him with one option.
Sloane.
𝖩оi𝗇 о𝘂r с𝘰𝘮m𝘂𝗇𝘪𝗍у 𝗼𝗻 gа𝘭ո𝗼𝘃el𝘀.с𝗈𝗆
He knew Sloane was Easton’s cousin. He also knew that she and June had formed a genuine bond, cemented in part by their shared contempt for Alycia Beasley.
“Driver,” Julian said, the effort of speaking audible in his voice. “Upper East Side p>
Half an hour later, the Maybach stopped in front of an exclusive, minimalist art gallery on Madison Avenue. It wasn’t yet open to the public. Through the floor-to-ceiling glass, Julian could see Sloane inside — sharp tailored black blazer, wide-leg trousers — directing two workers as they carefully positioned a large, chaotic postmodern oil painting on the pristine white wall.
He pushed the glass door open. A small silver bell chimed.
He walked in slowly, maintaining as much of his usual composure as his ribs would allow, one hand resting lightly against his side.
“Good morning, Sloane,” he said.
She turned. The moment she registered who was standing in her gallery, her eyebrows rose and her eyes narrowed immediately with sharp, focused suspicion. She signaled the workers to take a break and crossed the polished concrete floor toward him, heels clicking crisply.
Julian didn’t attempt small talk. His ribs were throbbing and the market was in freefall.
“Sloane, I need a significant favor,” he said, his tone direct and earnest. “I need June’s private number. Right now p>
The temperature in Sloane’s eyes dropped instantly.
She crossed her arms and looked him over — taking in the pallor, the careful way he held himself, the barely concealed wince he was suppressing.
“What do you want with June?” she said, her voice hard and offering nothing.
Julian exhaled — a movement that cost him — and pointed toward the street. Through the glass, a large digital billboard on a neighboring building was cycling through breaking financial news in vivid red letters.
“I’m trying to prevent a complete market collapse,” he said, with a short, humorless laugh.
“What does that have to do with June?” Sloane shot back, her posture tightening. “She escaped that toxic family. She has nothing to do with Compton anymore p>
Julian lowered his voice and leaned in slightly.
“This war — this bloodbath erasing tens of billions of dollars — is happening because Cole and Crawford are fighting over her p>
Sloane went still.