Chapter 123
Emily couldn't help but burst out laughing. She gave me a thumbs up and said in a low voice, "Well said! That's exactly how you deal with a bootlicker like him."
Terry's face turned dark with anger at my words. His mouth hung open, wanting to mock me some more.
I couldn't be bothered to waste any more breath on him. I turned around, grabbed Emily, and walked toward the elevator without looking back.
Behind us came Terry's furious cursing, faint and unclear.
I treated it like a stray dog barking.
The elevator doors closed, completely shutting out his disgusting face.
Emily was still excitedly replaying the confrontation, "Grace, did you see his face? He looked like he'd eaten shit. That's exactly how you should shut him up—serves him right for running his mouth all day!"
I smiled but didn't say much.
Getting tangled up with someone like that—even winning doesn't feel like an achievement, it just feels degrading.
Later, William told me that after we left, Terry still couldn't keep his cool and actually called him.
He probably wanted to report that I was bragging and making claims outside, trying to drive a wedge between William and me, or maybe just to cause me some trouble.
As it turned out, William shut him down without any courtesy.
When I heard this, I didn't feel much of anything.
People like Terry are convinced deep down that I'm just a housewife who cooks and cleans. He'll never understand, and doesn't want to believe, that a woman can leave marriage and family behind and still rely on her own mind and hands to establish herself in another field—even do better than many men.
His prejudice runs deep. No matter how much I say or prove, it's just a waste of effort.
Whatever.
My path doesn't need validation from people like him.
Emily and I made it smoothly to the underground parking garage and found my car.
Just as I pulled the car door open, I habitually patted my pocket and my heart sank.
My USB drive was missing.
It not only had the temporary backup files from the debugging session, but also some important materials I needed for tomorrow's meeting.
"What's wrong?" Emily noticed my expression change and asked.
"I think I left my USB drive upstairs, in the Bright Light Tech conference room," I said with a frown.
"I'll go up with you," Emily said immediately.
"No need," I shook my head. "It's just a USB drive. I'll go get it myself—it'll be quick. You wait in the car. You've been standing for ages and must be tired."
Emily thought for a moment and nodded, "Okay, but hurry back."
I returned to the elevator and pressed the floor button.
When the elevator doors opened, I walked quickly toward the conference room.
Fortunately, the door wasn't locked and the room was empty.
My USB drive was indeed lying quietly next to the computer I'd been working on.
I picked up the USB drive and breathed a sigh of relief. Just as I was about to leave, I heard an affected, syrupy female voice coming from the direction of the adjacent break room.
It was Sarah.
She seemed to be on a phone call.
I didn't want to eavesdrop, but my feet stopped unconsciously.
It wasn't that I wanted to spy—it was that the content of her conversation pierced my eardrums like an ice pick.
"George, I really do love that long dress. When can you actually get it for me? Didn't Atticus say they weren't selling it for now? See if you can work something out." She paused, her voice becoming even sweeter but carrying an unmistakable calculation, "And about what we discussed last time—acquiring Grace's mother's company—I think you should reconsider. After all, you already invested money in it. Instead of dragging it out, why not just take it over and run it ourselves? Resource integration would definitely work better. Investing your money with them carries big risks with uncertain returns—how can that compare to us making money ourselves? Don't you think?"
My breathing suddenly stopped. My fingers gripping the USB drive tightened sharply, the metal casing digging painfully into my palm.
Acquisition?
She still hadn't given up!
George had clearly backed off temporarily under my nearly desperate threat.
I thought this matter could at least be shelved for a while, giving Mom and me some breathing room.
I never expected Sarah to still be instigating behind the scenes, even targeting George's previous investment as an entry point to completely swallow up Mom's company.
Did she think my words were just wind in her ears?
Or did she believe that George would ultimately give in to her again without any boundaries, even willing to hurt me and my family once more?
A surge of anger mixed with icy coldness instantly rushed to my head.
I could barely control myself—I wanted to rush out immediately, grab Sarah, and slap her hard across the face.
Just as I took a deep breath, preparing to step forward, my phone suddenly vibrated in my pocket.
It was the project manager I'd just been working with.
I answered the call, trying to keep my voice normal, "What's up?"
"Ms. Brown, sorry to bother you. Are you still near our building?" The manager's voice carried a hint of politeness and awkwardness.
"I'm still upstairs. Just picked up something. What's going on?"
"It's like this—Mr. Smith suddenly came over. He wants to understand the situation with the project coordination and how the technical issues were resolved. When he heard you'd just left, I wanted to ask if you'd be willing to come back up for a quick chat?" The manager's tone was cautious, clearly aware this was a somewhat abrupt request, especially involving George.
George was here? And specifically asking to see me?
My heart sank. Before I could answer, I heard footsteps behind me.
Sarah had obviously heard my voice. She walked out of the break room with her phone, a flash of surprise crossing her face. She quickly hung up her own call and walked quickly toward me, her face showing surprise, "Ms. Brown, you weren't standing here eavesdropping on my phone call this whole time, were you?"
Her voice was particularly clear in the empty hallway, even carrying a deliberate tone of grievance and accusation.
The manager on my phone clearly heard this question too, his breathing pausing.
I ignored Sarah and spoke into the phone, my voice turning cold, "If Mr. Smith wants to understand the situation, you can have the technical colleagues who participated in the coordination report to him. As for me, I've found my USB drive and won't be staying."
The manager sounded anxious on the other end, "Ms. Brown, Mr. Smith said he wants to discuss the technical details with you in person. After all, you personally solved the problems earlier, and if Ms. Chen is there too, you could both..."
"No need," I cut him off, my tone decisive. "If Mr. Smith wants to find Sarah, call her yourself. I have no interest in participating in your meeting."
With that, I didn't wait for a response and hung up directly.
Almost simultaneously, Sarah's phone rang.
She glanced at the caller ID, her face immediately showing undisguised delight and smugness. She glanced at me, her voice instantly returning to its syrupy tone, "George is here? Okay, I'll be right there!"
She hung up, straightened her dress and hair, lifted her chin slightly, and walked past me, leaving behind a trail of heavy perfume.
I watched her back, my stomach churning.
George wanted to see me, and Sarah was going too.
What was this supposed to be?
An official three-way meeting between husband, wife, and mistress?
A huge sense of absurdity and humiliation washed over me again.
But I didn't leave immediately.
I wanted to see exactly what George was up to.
I adjusted my breathing, expressionless, and followed behind Sarah toward the conference room.
Pushing open the conference room door, George was indeed already sitting in the main seat.
He'd changed into a charcoal gray suit with no tie. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, giving him less of his usual rigid look and more casual coldness.
He was looking down at his phone. Hearing the door open, he looked up.
Sarah immediately rushed over, her voice sickeningly sweet, "George, why didn't you tell me you were coming?"
George's gaze lingered on her face for a second before he gave a faint acknowledgment as a greeting.
Then his eyes moved past her and landed on me.
That look—calm, distant, carrying his usual scrutinizing quality, as if evaluating an object or a piece of data.
He didn't call out to me or show any acknowledgment.
I stood at the door, looking back at him just as indifferently, laughing coldly inside.
Fine, Mr. Smith has quite the attitude.
If he wouldn't speak first, I certainly wouldn't take the initiative to greet him.
If he kept ignoring me like this, I'd turn around and leave without staying a minute longer.
The air froze for a few seconds.
Just as my patience was about to run out, George finally spoke.