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Chapter 763:

“Richard’s arrest warrant was approved an hour ago,” he said quietly. “The FBI will raid the Beasley mansion tomorrow afternoon. It’s over, June. It’s almost over p>

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Easton took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. His grip was warm and steady.

“I told you I’d take care of you,” he said, his eyes sincere and still. “I will always take care of you. No matter what. I will be your sword and your shield—until you are free. And long after p>

The thick soundproof door of the VIP ward stood closed. Cole paced exactly five feet from it, his leather shoes scuffing the corridor carpet in restless, sharp movements. He had ignored the medical isolation order entirely, using the Compton Group’s substantial donation privileges to post two armed bodyguards at the elevator entrance.

Night shift nurses pushed medication carts past with their heads bowed, too unnerved by the aura rolling off him to make a sound. Cole pressed his face to the frosted glass panel, catching the faint silhouette of Easton sitting beside June’s bed, pouring her a glass of water. Jealousy coiled like a venomous snake in his chest. He crushed the paper cup in his hand until cold water dripped down his wrist.

At the far end of the VIP floor, the fire exit door creaked open a crack. Alycia slipped through like a ghost, soaked to the bone in a cheap raincoat, her lips blue from hours of wandering the streets of Long Island. Using her memory from an internship here, she had avoided every main security camera on her way up.

She ducked behind the ice machine at the corridor corner and peered out.

There he was—the man who had cost her everything—standing guard outside June’s door like a lovesick sentinel. The last flicker of hope in Alycia’s chest died on the spot, and the poison of jealousy corroded what remained of her sanity.

The elevator chimed. Cole’s chief assistant walked briskly toward him, clutching a sealed manila envelope. “Mr. Cole. The forensics from Long Island PD came back expedited, just as you requested. They ran the fingerprints and shoe prints recovered from the gravesite p>

𝖸𝘰u𝗋 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝗍 fa𝘃𝗼r𝗂𝗍𝘦 𝗿еа𝗱 𝘪𝘀 on

Cole spun around so fast his jacket flared. He snatched the envelope, tore it open, and pulled out the stamped police report. His eyes moved down the page, and his pupils contracted to pinpricks.

The report stated, in plain black and white, that the partial fingerprint lifted from the red paint on Vivian Erickson’s tombstone was a confirmed match to Susan Beasley. Furthermore, the muddy high heel impression recovered from the lawn belonged to a limited-edition Chanel couture boot purchased exclusively for Alycia Beasley two weeks prior.

Cole’s vision blurred. These two women had not only been complicit in the destruction of June’s parents—they had desecrated their final resting place. An uncontrollable fury detonated in his chest. He drove his fist into the corridor wall so hard a framed print shook loose and shattered on the floor.