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Chapter 805:
“Alycia Beasley,” Cole said, his tone dead flat. “And every single financial node connected to her. Every offshore account. Every trust. Every credit line p>
“Yes, sir p>
“I want her digital footprint erased in three hours,” Cole commanded. “I want her to swipe her card for a piece of bread and have it decline. I want her starved p>
He hung up. He walked out of the estate and got back into the Maybach. The rain had stopped, leaving the air cold and sharp. He sat in the driver’s seat, staring at the steering wheel.
His hand shook as he dialed a number he had sworn never to call. The phone rang four times.
𝖳𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘴𝖺𝗻𝗱𝗌 𝗈𝗳 𝗋еa𝖽𝖾𝗿ѕ 𝗈𝗇
“You better have a final will and testament to dictate, Compton,” Easton Hahn’s voice came through the speaker, dripping with lethal coldness.
Cole closed his eyes. He swallowed every ounce of pride he had ever possessed and spoke with absolute submission.
“Hahn. I need your help p>
A beat of silence followed. Then Easton let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Are you out of your mind p>
“Hahn.” Cole’s voice fractured with pain. “I saw the FBI files. I know why Richard Beasley was arrested. The Compton Group has top-tier clearance with the DOJ. I can help you ensure he never sees daylight again. I can hand you the execution warrants p>
He gripped the phone tighter. “I want to help her. I want to send the people who hurt her to hell. Whatever it takes p>
Easton listened. When he spoke, his voice was a block of solid ice.
“The person who hurt her the most is you, Compton p>
The words struck Cole directly in the center of his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to mount any defense.
“Keep your pathetic, delayed guilt to yourself,” Easton said, delivering his final verdict. “June is safe. She is winning. She does not need your filthy hands touching her victory p>
“Easton, please p>
“Stay away from her. That is your final warning p>
The line went dead.
Cole slowly lowered the phone and rested his bleeding forehead against the leather steering wheel. He finally understood the ultimate punishment. Some sins could not be washed away, even if you offered your own life as the price.
Inside the dingy room of the lower Manhattan hotel, Alycia sat cross-legged on the lumpy mattress, her hands typing frantically on the keyboard of her Apple laptop.
Since Cole had choked her and walked out, she knew her time in New York was over. She had to run before he used his power to bury her alive.
She opened the encrypted portal to a Cayman Islands offshore bank — her safety net. Over the last seven years, she had slowly siphoned ten million dollars out of June’s stolen trust fund and hidden it there.
She typed in the sixteen-digit dynamic password and initiated a wire transfer, splitting the massive sum into three untraceable numbered accounts in Geneva.
A green loading bar appeared on the screen. Processing Transfer Request.
Alycia chewed on her thumbnail, her heart hammering against her ribs, watching the green bar slide steadily to the right.
It hit 99 p>