Chapter 96
Chapter 96:
June sat quietly at a small side desk, wearing a simple gray blazer, her laptop open in front of her. She looked every bit the part of a standard secretary taking meeting minutes.
Declan stood and walked slowly around the glass table until he was standing directly in front of her. He leaned over, placing both hands flat on her desk, deliberately invading her space.
“Dr. Vance,” he drawled, his tone thick with calculated condescension as he cut his eyes toward June, “before you make a final decision, perhaps you should consult the newest member of your team. Any major corporate decision should account for the real source of funding behind it, shouldn’t it?” His lips curled. “Tell me, Mrs. Compton — are you funneling your husband’s endless bank accounts to artificially inflate the value of this little lab? Bold strategy for a bored socialite p>
Low, arrogant chuckles rippled through the analysts behind him.
Silas’s face darkened. He slammed his hands on the table and began to rise.
W𝘦 u𝗉𝖽𝘢𝘁𝗲 𝗲𝗏𝖾𝗋𝘺 𝘸𝖾е𝗸 о𝗇
June raised her left hand. Silas stopped.
She calmly closed her laptop. The soft click echoed in the silence of the room.
She stood. She was shorter than Declan, but the sheer, glacial authority radiating from her eyes made him instinctively draw back an inch.
June picked up the takeover binder, flipped to the middle section, and scanned it for exactly two seconds.
“Your due diligence is garbage,” she said. Her voice was flat, even, and utterly without intimidation.
Declan’s smirk disappeared. “Excuse me p>
“Your valuation model,” June continued, her tone shifting into rapid, precise scientific analysis, “is built entirely on the metabolic pathways of first-generation targeted therapies. You assumed a linear degradation rate.” She tossed the binder back onto the table. It slid across the glass and stopped against Declan’s chest.
“Our second-generation drug uses a novel neural-blocking mechanism,” she said, her eyes holding his. “The Phase II receptor binding affinity is 98.7%. The half-life is triple your estimate. Your analysts did not even understand the basic pharmacology of the patent they are trying to steal p>
The room went absolutely still.
The lead analyst behind Declan turned pale. He knew she was right.
Declan stared at the woman in the gray blazer. His mind stuttered. A socialite wife could not possibly know those numbers. Those figures were highly classified clinical data.
“Where did you steal that?” he demanded, his voice dropping.
Silas rose from his chair and walked over to stand beside June. He looked at Declan with a mixture of pity and immense pride.
“Mr. Hayes,” Silas said, his voice carrying through the glass room, “you are not speaking to Cole Compton’s wife.” He gestured toward June with quiet reverence. “You are speaking to the shadow Chief Scientist of Apex Bio. The sole patent holder of the second-generation neural-blocker. Dr. June Erickson p>
The words hit Declan like a physical blow.
He stepped back half a pace. His pupils dilated. His mind raced backward — the spilled coffee, the cold logic, the five hundred dollars, the absolute indifference she had shown Cole at the yacht race. Every piece snapped into place in a single, blinding instant.