Chapter 184
Wilder stood up, supporting himself on the desk's edge. His figure seemed to have aged ten years in an instant, yet he also radiated a kind of dying excitement, like a final surge of energy.
"Once we secure the Ross Manor, we can announce to the world: the Mellon family's ancestral home has returned to the Mellon family! This is the best PR material—more convincing than any statement. Stock prices will rebound, banks will reassess our credit, and suppliers who paused cooperation will come back..."
He spoke faster and faster, his voice trembling. "This is the Mellon family's last chance. Our only chance."
Ryder opened his mouth to argue, but couldn't form the words.
He knew his father had a point.
But he was more keenly aware that thirty-two million dollars would be far too little in this inevitably brutal hunt.
"Dad," he began with difficulty, "even if we stake all our liquid capital, it won't be enough to compete with Alaric in bidding. What if—"
"There is no 'what if'." Wilder cut him off decisively. "I've already spoken with Miguel. There are rules for this auction. After winning the bid, we have a one-month payment period for the balance. We only need to come up with the deposit and down payment on auction day."
He paused, a desperate ruthlessness flashing in his eyes. "Think of this money as our entry token. First, win the Ross Manor. Then use the property rights as collateral to find new funding."
Ryder drew in a sharp breath.
This was gambling.
Betting the Mellon family's entire remaining fortune on the unknown outcome a month later.
But did they have any other choice?
A gentle knock sounded at the door.
Dahlia walked in carrying a cup of tea, her face carefully composed into calmness and submission.
"Dad, you've been smoking so much again." She placed the cup on the desk, her tone gentle, like a dutiful daughter. "The doctor said you have high blood pressure. You should cut back."
Wilder looked up at her.
Since that explosive night of rage, Dahlia had become unusually quiet.
She didn't argue, didn't talk back, didn't go out. Each day she either stayed in her room or came downstairs to serve her father tea and water.
At first, Wilder suspected she was plotting something, but after several days of observation, she showed no unusual activity.
Perhaps that night's harsh scolding had finally woken her up.
Perhaps the Palmer family incident had finally taught her fear.
Wilder rubbed his temples wearily and took the teacup, his tone unusually mild. "I know. Just leave it there."
Dahlia nodded but didn't immediately leave.
She lowered her eyes, her voice soft. "Dad, I heard you're planning to use all our liquid capital to bid on the Ross Manor?"
Both Wilder and Ryder's gazes fell on her simultaneously.
Wilder frowned. "Why are you asking about this?"
Dahlia bit her lip, as if gathering courage before lifting her head. "Dad, I know you don't trust me anymore. I know I've caused terrible trouble for the family. I want to make up for it."
She paused, her voice dropping lower. "The Ross Manor auction requires a lot of financial procedures, plus coordinating the deposit account with the auction house. Dad, you and Ryder have so much to handle. Let me help you with these details."
Ryder looked at her suspiciously, saying nothing.
Wilder remained silent for a long time, his expression complex.
"You?" He spoke slowly, his tone inscrutable. "If you just don't cause me more trouble, I'd be grateful."
Dahlia's eyes quickly reddened, tears welling up but stubbornly refusing to fall.
"Dad," her voice caught with emotion, "I know you don't trust me anymore, but I really want to do something for this family. What's done is done—I want to make amends. Besides, I was a vice president. I understand the company's situation even better than you do in some ways."
She lowered her head, shoulders trembling slightly.
The study remained quiet for a long time.
Wilder looked thoughtful. That much was true.
Dahlia was capable—otherwise he wouldn't have entrusted the Mellon Group to her management before.
Wilder let out a long sigh, exhaustion in his voice. "You really want to help?"
Dahlia's head shot up, nodding desperately.
"Fine." Wilder said. "On the financial side, assist Ryder's assistant in coordinating with the auction house. Get the deposit account sorted. For other fund transfers, follow Ryder's arrangements."
Dahlia responded repeatedly, "Dad, don't worry. I'll handle it properly."
Ryder snorted coldly. Before, he'd been a playboy following in Dahlia's shadow. Now Dahlia had to listen to him.
At this thought, Ryder grew even more arrogant.
Dahlia left the study, gently closing the door.
In the hallway, she leaned against the cold wall, slowly wiping away her tears.
The tears were real, but they were for herself—not for the Mellon family, certainly not for Wilder.
In her mind, she repeated those numbers: thirty-two million dollars.
Enough.
Enough for her to start over overseas.
Enough to shed the nauseating title of "the Mellon family's heiress," to abandon the father who treated her as a tool, to leave behind the brother who only knew how to shirk responsibility, to escape this life like a pool of mud.
This wasn't her first day planning this.
Since that night when Wilder publicly berated her and Ryder discarded her like unwanted baggage, she'd known—this family had never truly accepted her.
Wilder's paternal love was merely compensation for his youthful mistakes. Ryder treated her as a sister only because she had value when she was in their father's favor.
Now that she'd fallen from grace, become a pariah, they couldn't even be bothered to pretend anymore.
So what was there left to hold onto?
Dahlia returned to her room and locked the door. She retrieved her safe, which contained an offshore bank card, an encrypted security device, and a backup phone that had never been used.
Dahlia opened her laptop and logged into an overseas email account she'd never accessed from home.
This wasn't her first time executing such transfers.
Over the past year, small amounts she'd siphoned from the Mellon Group under various pretenses had all been laundered through this channel.
Each transaction was modest—tens of thousands, a hundred thousand dollars—disguised as consulting fees, service fees, procurement advance payments...
Scattered across different time periods, filed under different categories. Even the Mellon Group's CFO had never detected any anomalies.
This time would be the largest amount.
And the last.
Dahlia took a deep breath and closed the laptop.
She couldn't rush.
She had to wait until all the funds were in place, until the final window before the auction.
That's when Wilder's attention would be entirely on the Ross Manor, Ryder busy dealing with banks. No one would be watching a "dutiful daughter trying to make amends."
That would be her only opportunity.
Over the next three days, Dahlia's performance was impeccable.
She showed up at the company on time every day, sitting at the temporary workstation Ryder had assigned her, seriously verifying details of the auction deposit account on her computer screen.
Her attitude was earnest. She even voluntarily stayed late working overtime.
The CFO privately told Ryder, "Ms. Mellon never used to work overtime."
Ryder didn't respond.