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Chapter 649
Chapter 649:
“Is your daughter’s hospitalization connected to your actions at the gala?” another called from behind.
Blinded by camera flashes, Susan raised her hands against the crowd. Before she could reach the doors, someone hurled a cup of black ink directly onto her white trench coat. It streamed down her hair and across her cheeks. She let out a sharp cry and fled into the lobby, pursued by laughter and the continuous burst of camera shutters.
Inside, in the VIP ward corridor, Richard Beasley paced with his phone pressed to his ear, his face gray.
“Mr. Zhang, please — a few more days. The Compton settlement is imminent — hello? Hello p>
The line went dead. JPMorgan Chase’s forced liquidation team had frozen every Beasley account and property. The construction company Richard had spent his life building had vanished in forty-eight hours.
He leaned against the cold wall, his legs unsteady beneath him.
The elevator opened and Susan stumbled out, her coat ruined, her face still marked with ink. The moment Richard saw her, something in him broke entirely. Every humiliation of the past forty-eight hours compressed into a single impulse, and he crossed the corridor and struck her across the face. Her sunglasses clattered to the floor.
Susan screamed and clawed back at him. Their voices — his curses, her accusations — echoed down the hospital corridor in ugly, overlapping waves. Richard seized her and shoved her hard against the wall. She crumpled, and he kicked at her twice before security personnel appeared from both ends of the hall and wrestled him back, pinning him to the floor.
He continued to struggle, wild-eyed and incoherent, while nurses and patients’ families looked on from doorways with expressions ranging from horror to contempt.
𝖶𝗵a𝗍 е𝗏𝘦𝗋𝘺o𝗇𝘦 𝗂𝘀 𝗿ea𝖽𝗂ո𝗴 𝗼𝘯 𝗴a𝗅ոo𝗏𝘦𝘭ѕ.c𝘰m
Susan lay on the floor, gasping, her lip bleeding, her elaborate defenses completely gone.
Then the VIP ward door creaked open.
Alycia stood in the frame, pale as bone in her hospital gown, one hand pressed against the wall for support. She looked at her father pinned beneath the security guards and her mother crumpled on the floor, and her expression held nothing resembling shock or grief.
“If you’re not finished,” she said, her voice hoarse but measured, “get in here. We haven’t lost yet. Once that medical report reaches Cole’s desk, everything changes p>
At the mention of Cole’s name, both of them stilled. The familiar flicker of calculation returned to their eyes, overriding everything else.
Security released Richard with a look of undisguised disgust and a firm warning. He helped Susan to her feet, and together they followed their daughter back into the ward — diminished, desperate, and not yet done.
A suffocating silence filled the VIP ward.
Richard sat on the sofa with his face buried in his hands, his hair disheveled. Susan stood at the mirror, using a wet towel to wipe ink and blood from her face. Her reflection stared back at her — ravaged, unrecognizable — and her hands began to tremble.