Chapter 89 Throwing Oneself into the Arms
The next afternoon at three, Scarlett's phone buzzed. She could see Owen tomorrow.
The timing was brutal—smack in the middle of the art gallery's final presentation meeting. After weighing her options, Scarlett pushed the meeting back. Since Ambrose would be attending to approve the final design, she had to loop him in.
Sitting in her office, Scarlett pulled out her phone and dialed Ambrose to request time off. The moment she mentioned it, silence stretched between them before he finally spoke.
"Why the sudden need for time off?"
Scarlett considered her response carefully. With his security detail shadowing her every move, he'd find out anyway. No point in hiding it. "I'm going to see my father."
Another beat of silence. Then his voice sharpened with that uncanny perceptiveness of his. "Why the sudden visit?"
Her tone stayed even. "I haven't seen him in a while. I want to check on him. They scheduled tomorrow morning, so I have to work around their timeline and adjust my schedule accordingly."
After a pause, Ambrose agreed. "Fine. Go handle it. We'll move the presentation to the day after tomorrow, morning session."
The call ended. On Ambrose's end, he summoned Chase into his office.
"Has Wesley contacted her in the past couple days?"
Chase knew exactly who her referred to. "Wesley hasn't reached out. He's been scrambling to deal with the Ross Group situation—no time for Ms. Mellon."
The security detail tailing Scarlett reported to Chase daily without fail.
Chase thought back to last night's report, then added, "Though yesterday, when Ms. Mellon was having dinner with her friend, she ran into Ulysses. He found out she'd joined the Boleyn Group and made some comment about missing his chance to save her father. Then he leaned in and whispered something—our guy couldn't catch what."
Ambrose leaned back in his chair, his expression turning glacial. Was Ulysses trying to leverage Owen to manipulate Scarlett? That would explain her sudden urgency.
"Mr. Boleyn, did something happen with Ms. Mellon? Is Ulysses using Owen to threaten her?"
Ambrose pushed back from his desk and stood, the movement causing his muscles to flex beneath the black dress shirt secured by his signature gold cufflinks.
He walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the distant skyline.
"The Mitchell family wants to absorb Owen's network in Silverlight City. But then, Ulysses uses saving Owen as leverage against Scarlett? That's contradictory. What game is he playing?"
Chase mulled it over before offering, "With the Mitchell family's ascension coming up, maybe Ulysses is staging this whole thing as some kind of tribute. Question is whether Ms. Mellon buys it."
He continued his analysis. "Though knowing Ms. Mellon's intelligence, she won't fall for it easily. But with Owen's freedom on the line... if she panics, she might walk right into Ulysses's trap."
Ambrose's laugh was cold. "So she's rushing to see Owen because Ulysses dropped some supposedly crucial information."
"Mr. Boleyn, should we try to find out what they discuss when they meet?" Chase asked.
"Someone at Owen's level—family visits aren't monitored for conversation."
Meaning they'd get nothing. Ambrose added, "Just keep eyes on her."
"Understood." Chase nodded.
Ambrose turned back. "Dig into Ulysses's activities during those years he wasn't in Silverlight City. Discreetly."
He'd never bothered with Ulysses before, but now that the man was making moves on his people, a little reconnaissance seemed prudent.
He returned to his desk. "Any progress on Brielle?"
"Actually, yes. That hundred grand Brielle gave Wesley four years ago? We traced the source—Mitchell Group. Technically a loan, but never repaid."
Ambrose froze mid-step, his brow furrowing deeply. The Mitchell Group again?
"Who authorized it?"
"Preston Mitchell, who was running the Mitchell Group back then."
Preston had died in an accident two years ago. Dead men told no tales.
"Brielle doesn't have the clout to secure a loan from the Mitchell Group for Wesley. There had to be some kind of deal." Ambrose braced his hands on the desk, his gaze turning to ice.
"Right now, only Brielle and Wesley can tell us what really happened."
As Chase finished speaking, murder flashed across Ambrose's features. His lips barely moved as he spoke, voice dripping with menace.
"Wesley will talk eventually. As for Brielle—use whatever methods necessary. Get her secrets out. Just don't kill her."
Chase nodded and left. Seconds later, Ambrose's assistant Ryder Parker entered with a document, placing it before him.
"Mr. Boleyn, the Mitchell Group is also competing for the Serene Bay Peninsula project. They've already met with the key stakeholders."
Ambrose's expression darkened. "Noted."
The Serene Bay Peninsula project was one of this year's crown jewels. If Ulysses wanted a piece of it, looks like Scarlett would need to step up to the plate.
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The next day, Scarlett arrived at the prison right on schedule. A guard led her to Owen's cell. The moment she stepped through the door, she saw him sitting at the table, reaching for the water pitcher.
Her vision blurred instantly. She couldn't hold back the tears as she ran forward.
"Dad!"
Owen set down the cup and stood, catching his daughter as she threw herself into his arms. "Scarlett."
Father and daughter reunited, grief washing over them both. Scarlett—normally so composed and controlled—lost it completely the second she buried herself in Owen's embrace.
Seeing him brought back every reckless, stubborn thing she'd done. The regret crushed her. She hated herself for not listening when Owen tried to warn her away from Wesley, for marrying him anyway, and creating this nightmare.
Every buried hurt surged to the surface. Her tears came like a dam breaking, unstoppable.
It tore Owen apart. He rubbed her back, murmuring comfort. "It's okay. Let me look at you."
Scarlett finally pulled back, swiping at her eyes. Owen took her hand and guided her to the table.
"Scarlett, you've lost weight." After a long moment, that's what he said.
Scarlett had managed to collect herself by now, but looking at Owen—his hair shot through with so much more gray—her nose stung with fresh tears. "Dad, when did you get so much gray hair?"
Owen gave an easy laugh, ducking his head as his hand brushed through his hair. "I'm getting old. Hair turns gray—that's just life."
"Last time I saw you, you didn't have nearly this much." Scarlett stood, leaning closer to inspect.
"I hadn't noticed. I'm in here reading the papers every day, eating well enough. If I've gone gray, it's just my age catching up. Happens to everyone." Owen's demeanor was remarkably peaceful. He took her hand again, coaxing her back down. "Sit. Talk to me."
Scarlett sat, dabbing at her eyes again. As Owen poured water, he studied her with a glance, picking up on how different her emotional state seemed this time.
"Scarlett... did Wesley do something to you?"