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Chapter 618
Chapter 618:
He stormed into his office and slammed the door. The roses had failed. The diamond had failed. Words had failed. All that remained was the crudest, most absolute form of power he possessed. He grabbed his phone, his mind racing. He would bury her in his wealth, force her to acknowledge the sheer scale of his existence, make himself so financially present in her life that she could not possibly ignore him. It wasn’t a gift. It was an invasion.
June turned back to Brogan.
“Seven-thirty,” she confirmed. “I’ll be ready p>
She did not think of Cole again until her phone began to ring with an insistent, unfamiliar number — a Swiss country code.
She hesitated, then answered on speaker.
“Dr. Erickson? This is Helene from Credit Suisse. I apologize for the late hour, but we have an… an unprecedented situation.” The woman’s voice was tight with professional panic. “We are seeing a series of incoming wire transfers directed to your accounts. The sender is Cole Compton, routed through dozens of shell corporations. We’ve flagged them, of course, but the sheer volume is tripping every anti-money laundering and terror financing alarm from here to Washington. The regulators have already frozen the transactions pending investigation p>
Brogan’s face had gone pale. He stared at the phone as if it were a live grenade.
“What kind of volume are we talking about, Helene?” June’s voice was calm, a stark contrast to the banker’s distress.
A pause followed, filled with the sound of frantic typing. “The attempted transfers total… Dr. Erickson, this can’t be right… it appears to be in excess of twenty billion dollars p>
ѕ𝘩𝗮r𝘦 y𝘰𝘂𝗋 𝘧a𝗏𝘰r𝗶𝗍𝖾𝘴 𝗳𝗿о𝗆 ѕ.с𝘰𝘮
Brogan made a choked sound. “June — what is he — this is insane. This is p>
She silenced him with a look.
“Helene,” she said into the phone, her voice cold and clear.
“Yes, Dr. Erickson p>
“Reject them. All of them. Every attempted transfer originating from any account linked to Cole Compton, Compton Group, or any subsidiary entity. Reject immediately. Do not simply block them — formally refuse the funds. Then I want you to file a formal harassment complaint with the Swiss Financial Market Supervisory Authority on my behalf. Flag his accounts for suspicious and coercive activity. Add him to our highest-tier security protocol p>
“Dr. Erickson, that’s — are you certain? The amount is p>
“I don’t want his money, Helene. I don’t want his attention. I want him erased from my financial existence as thoroughly as he has been erased from my personal one p>
She ended the call and dropped the phone into her desk drawer.
She looked at Brogan.
“We should go,” she said. “Traffic will be heavy this time of night p>
She walked past him, out of the office, down the corridor, and into the elevator that would carry her to the street, to the car, to the concert hall where Mahler waited — music that had nothing to do with billionaires or their broken toys.
Behind her, the drawer sat closed. Inside it, the phone lay silent.
Twenty billion dollars, rejected and reported.
A message more eloquent than any words could have been.
The Beasley family home in Long Island had once been a monument to borrowed grandeur.
Now it was a tomb.
Yellow stickers from the bank’s asset recovery team covered the windows. The furniture that remained was tagged for auction. The air smelled of stale wine and the particular desperation of people who had tasted wealth and lost it.