Chapter 259: Eavesdropping

Dominic had one arm around Evelyn. With his free hand, he closed his fingers over hers where they rested on his chest.

"Soon," he said, his tone easy and reassuring. "Don't worry. You and the baby will be well taken care of. Once the child is born, if it's a son, I'll transfer a portion of the company shares directly into his name."

That was exactly what Evelyn wanted to hear. Her face lit up. She tilted her head and pressed a kiss to his cheek, her voice dripping with sweetness. "Dominic, you're the best."

He gave a quiet laugh.

But his mind was already somewhere else. It was time to squeeze something more out of Prescott.

After all, he had put in over thirty million in so-called investments and gotten back nothing but a watch worth a fraction of that. No matter how he ran the numbers, he was on the losing end.

The next morning, Dominic skipped the office entirely and had his driver take him straight to Prescott's private hospital.

He knew the place well enough. He made his way to Christian's room and stopped short in the doorway.

His son was already up, walking slowly around the room on his own, no crutches.

Something clicked in Dominic's mind. A plan started forming before he had even stepped inside.

He pushed the door open, put on his warmest fatherly smile, and settled into a seat beside his wife Arabella.

"The boy's recovering so well," he said pleasantly. "We should show some gratitude as family. Ask Miranda to arrange something with Clifton. The four of us, a proper dinner together."

He gave it a reasonable-sounding justification. "Christian's been dealing with that leg injury for so long. Prescott has done a lot for him. It's only right we thank them properly."

Arabella had been reading. She slowly looked up from her book and gave Dominic a measured look. She closed it calmly.

"Clifton runs an entire conglomerate. He must be extremely busy." Her voice gave nothing away. "There's no rush. Let's wait until Christian has fully recovered."

Soft words, firm wall. Dominic was shut down before he could push further.

His smile stiffened. A flash of irritation moved through him.

Busy? So what?

Clifton might be the Prescott heir, but Dominic was his father-in-law. Surely his son-in-law could make time for one dinner.

Across the room, Christian had heard every word while working through his exercises. He picked up the towel from around his neck, wiped the sweat from his face, and let a brief, humorless smile pass over his features.

Thank Prescott. Sure. His father wasn't concerned about his leg at all. He just wanted to use it as an excuse to get something out of the Prescott family.

Christian set the towel down and looked at his father.

"Mom's right," he said evenly. "Dad, slow down."

"You!"

Being called out by his own son, to his face, in front of his wife, was more than Dominic could take. The anger surged up fast.

He let out a sharp sound of contempt, pushed himself off the sofa without another word, and walked out of the room. The door slammed behind him.

Dominic stormed down the corridor toward the elevator, chest tight with irritation.

He rounded a corner and nearly walked straight into someone coming the other way.

He was about to snap at them when a conversation drifted out from a doctor's office nearby, the door left slightly ajar.

"Prescott is in rough shape."

"I know. And from what I've heard, Clifton is still missing. The entire Prescott Group is basically running on his wife's shoulders right now."

Every word reached Dominic clearly.

His anger evaporated on the spot.

He went very still. He eased forward, holding his breath, and pressed closer to the door to listen.

Miranda was running Prescott Group?

When the last sentence settled in, a rush of wild, almost giddy excitement shot through him from the ground up. His body actually trembled slightly with it.

He had had no idea. The entire vast commercial empire that was Prescott Group was sitting in his daughter's hands.

If that was true...

That meant whatever he wanted, Miranda could pull it straight from Prescott. Money. Status. Connections. Everything he had ever wanted, and it was suddenly within reach.

The corners of his mouth spread wider and wider, and something greedy and bright flared in his eyes.

He waited until the doctors moved on to something else and there was nothing more worth hearing. Then he straightened up, thoroughly satisfied.

He smoothed the lapels of his expensive suit with all the ease of a man who already considered Prescott Group his.

Keeping his excitement contained, he drifted in the direction the doctors had mentioned, as if by coincidence.

Through the small window in the VIP ward door, he spotted Prescott in the bed.

That confirmed it.

Every word those doctors said was true.

Dominic turned away from the door, barely able to keep the smile off his face, and walked out of the hospital at a brisk pace.

He got into the car and didn't hesitate.

"Prescott Group. Now."

--

Half an hour later, outside the towering Prescott Group headquarters.

Dominic straightened his clothes, tilted his head back to take in the building, and felt a deep sense of certainty.

He drew a breath, squared his shoulders, and walked through the gleaming entrance.

He hadn't made it far before a receptionist in a fitted professional jacket, wearing a practiced smile, stepped in front of him.

"Good afternoon, sir. Do you have an appointment?"

Dominic stopped. He gave her a brief, unimpressed look.

"No," he said, with the casual arrogance of someone who expected that not to matter. "But I'm the Madam's father. I'm here to see my daughter. Miranda."

He fully expected that to be the end of it.

The receptionist's smile didn't shift by a single degree.

"Sir, I apologize. Per company policy, even family members of the Madam are required to have a prior appointment or to be escorted down by someone from upstairs." Her tone was polite, firm, and completely unmoved. "Without that, I'm afraid I can't let you through today."

"You!"

Dominic felt the heat rise in his face. He was the chairman of Lancaster Group. Miranda's own father. And this woman was blocking him at the front door like he was nobody.

Not far away, tucked behind a large potted plant in the lobby lounge, a camera lens was pointed directly at the scene.