Chapter 64
The entire room went dead quiet.
The man in the shadows, the one who'd been seconds away from going on a killing spree, suddenly changed. The wild, violent air around him, that feral rage that felt like it could rip the room apart, smoothed out in an instant, like some vicious animal whose fur had just been stroked the right way.
A deep smile flashed in James's eyes, and even his gaze toward Hestia looked as if he were staring at a corpse.
"Aubrey," James spoke coldly, "Tell Mrs. Wilson what's happened to the thing she's so proud of."
Aubrey stepped forward at once and nudged his gold-rimmed glasses higher on his nose.
Following the devil around every day had trained him well; he'd long since learned how to stay perfectly calm even if the sky was collapsing. Now, he looked down from where he stood at the furious Hestia on the couch, his eyes carrying a faint, almost pitying detachment.
"Mrs. Wilson." Aubrey pulled out the tablet he always carried. His long fingers moved quickly across the screen, his voice so steady it barely seemed human.
"In the last three minutes, The Sinclair Group has dumped every share we held in all Wilson Family–owned subsidiaries. On top of that, we've just sent forty-five confidential ledgers detailing your involvement in illegal money laundering, market manipulation, and tax evasion to both the Amber District Federal Tax Office and the Supreme Court."
He paused, watching Hestia's face grow more rigid by the second. His tone stayed polite, but there was a blade of cruelty beneath the surface. "Right now, Wilson Family stock has completely crashed. Every major bank in the Amber District has announced that your liquid assets are frozen. To put it simply, Mrs. Wilson, your family is bankrupt."
The spacious principal's office fell into a suffocating silence.
The quiet broke not with a sob or a gasp, but with Hestia's sharp, incredulous laugh.
She looked like someone who'd just heard the most ridiculous joke of the decade. The panic that had twisted her features disappeared in a heartbeat, replaced by an even more unhinged contempt and mockery.
"Bankrupt? Are you out of your mind?"
She shot to her feet. The sudden movement made her heel twist, but she still forced herself to hold on to that rich-lady poise, jabbing a manicured finger at Aubrey's face as she snapped, "Is bluffing the only trick you people have? Our Wilson Family has been rooted in the Amber District for over a hundred years. We're worth tens of billions. And you want me to believe a few sentences from The Sinclair Group can ruin us? That's the funniest thing I've heard all year."
The principal, sweating so hard his shirt clung to his back, grabbed onto her words like they were a lifeline. He dabbed his forehead with a trembling handkerchief and chimed in quickly, "Yes, yes, Mr. Sinclair, we're all businesspeople here, no need for such terrifying jokes. The Wilson Family is—"
"If you're so sure it's a joke, why don't you check your phones?" Isabella stood by James's side, lazily tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
She watched Hestia's stubborn refusal to accept reality, that pathetic 'won't cry until she sees the coffin' attitude, and the corner of her mouth lifted with a faint, icy smirk.
She'd once been trapped in a tiny, closed-off world, but that didn't mean she was some sheltered flower who knew nothing. If James dared to say something like this in public, it meant he'd already pulled the trigger. He would never leave his enemies even a scrap of room to breathe.
James's methods in the business world were always more ruthless than the look in his eyes.
Just then, Hestia's encrypted phone—custom-made and always hidden in her handbag—started ringing like an alarm, shrill and relentless.
Her smile froze.
Her fingers fumbled as she dug out the phone, but the second she saw the caller ID, her spine straightened again. She puffed up like a rooster that thought it had just won a fight, throwing James and Isabella a triumphant, gloating look.
"It's my husband!" she said, her voice climbing with excitement. "You idiots, my husband is the vice president of the Amber District Chamber of Commerce. He's definitely on his way here right now to pick me up. When he gets here, I'll make you kneel and lick my son's shoes."
She spat out the threat with pure venom, then instantly softened her tone to a wounded, fragile whine as she answered the call. "Honey, you've got to get to the school. There are two reckless—"
She never finished the sentence.
Outside, a deafening crash shook the hallway, followed by the heavy thud of multiple footsteps, fast and chaotic, pounding down the corridor.
"Who the hell is making trouble on Wilson Family turf? You got a death wish?"
The bellow exploded through the door just as the office's solid wood panel—already damaged earlier—was ripped clean off its hinges from the outside and slammed to the floor with a bone-rattling boom.
Through the clearing dust, a massive, broad-shouldered white man strode in, escorted by a small army of black-suited bodyguards, each with a gun at his hip.
A thick, expensive cigar hung from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were cold and predatory, like a wolf guarding its kill.
This was Lucas Wilson, current head of the Wilson Family, the infamous kingpin of Amber District's business world, a man who could flip the local market upside down with a single hand.
"Honey!" Hestia rushed toward him in her heels like a bird flying back to its nest, burying herself in Lucas's chest as tears sprang to her eyes on command.
"You're finally here! Look at what they've done. Not only did they hurt our precious son, but that man's assistant actually had the nerve to say he'd bankrupt our family. Honey, you have to tear them to pieces and throw them into the ocean for the sharks."
In the corner, Jack, the chubby boy who'd been cowering earlier, swelled with false courage the moment he saw Lucas. He threw himself at his father's leg, wailing dramatically, "Dad, that woman called me a pervert and said she was going to send me to juvie! I want their eyes gouged out!"
Lucas patted Hestia's shoulder, then lifted his gaze to the man standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows.
He exhaled a heavy ring of white smoke and let his eyes drift lazily over James, this impossibly young Asian man, his expression twisting into open disdain.
"So that's who you are," Lucas said with a cold snort. "The Sinclair Group's Mr. Sinclair."
He pointed the hand holding the cigar in James's direction, jabbing the air with it as if delivering a lesson. "Listen, kid. This is the Amber District. Out here, the big-shot outsider never beats the guy who owns the ground you're standing on. Didn't your old man teach you that?"
Hidden in the shadows, Aubrey felt his lungs seize.
It wasn't just a sharp breath this time. For a second, he literally forgot how to inhale.
Lucas had actually dared to bring up the boss's father. The father who had left behind nothing but unresolved blood and ash.
Everyone at The Sinclair Group knew that James's father was his one untouchable nerve. Years ago, a brutal family power struggle had left James clawing his way to the top over a pile of bodies. His father's death was the deepest wound in that history.
Sure enough, the instant those words left Lucas's mouth, something shifted in James's gaze.
They'd been cold before. Now a storm rolled in, dark and violent, a blood-red surge that looked capable of leveling everything in its path.
He tightened one arm around Jasper, holding the boy steady against his chest. With his other hand, that long, elegant hand with the sharply defined knuckles, he gently lifted his palm and covered both Jasper's and Isabella's ears.
"Don't listen," he murmured, his voice low and rough, threaded with a strange, dangerous tenderness. "It's filthy."
Warmth pressed over Isabella's ears, shutting out the world for a heartbeat.
Her pulse stumbled.
She could feel the heat of his skin, the steady strength of his arm, the way his body shielded them from the blast radius of the room. Through the narrow gap between his fingers, she looked at Lucas, her brows drawing together just slightly.
This was still Wilson territory. Lucas had armed guards at his back. Guns, power, reputation. James, no matter how rich he was, was still just a businessman.
Was he really about to go head-to-head with the local king in his own den?