Chapter 120 Each Heart Has Its Own Feelings
The vast office felt charged, each of its three occupants a separate pole of intention. Preston, Leopold, and Gemma, each in their own corner, each with their own agenda.
Just as Caroline had predicted that morning, Leopold's assignment abroad had been a trap from the start. He was the blade Preston intended to use to cut down his rivals. Preston was methodically eliminating uncontrollable variables and liabilities around him.
But in this play, Leopold had been thrust onto the stage while Preston directed from the wings. If this gambit succeeded, the credit would never be Leopold's. If it failed, the blame would be his and his alone.
When it came to a war of attrition, Leopold had just as much patience as the others. Besides, he wasn't the one in a hurry.
Gemma's eyes were locked on Preston, her gaze a simmering brew of defiance and fury. Her posture screamed her position: Leopold could have temporary management of the three hotels, but she would never surrender ownership.
Preston's heavy gaze shifted between the two of them, the hard line of his jaw radiating authority. If Leopold weren't present, Leopold was certain the office would already be echoing with another explosive argument between husband and wife.
In a three-way standoff, someone was bound to break first.
"Preston." It was Gemma. "What's your take on this?"
Leopold saw the flicker of annoyance in Preston's brow before it smoothed over. It was his cue to speak.
"Gemma, you know the problems the hotels are facing. A complete overhaul isn't something that can happen overnight," Preston began, his voice a low rumble. "If you want Mr. Leopold Wipere's help, you need to show some good faith. Otherwise, who would invest the time and energy to manage them? Leopold, what are your thoughts?" Preston, the old fox, deftly tossed the hot potato back to Leopold.
He watched as Gemma's expression shifted, her eyes now pinning him with a new accusation. It was as if his agreement would be tantamount to brazenly snatching the hotels from her grasp.
"Ms. Adams," Leopold said, his tone measured and calm, "we're not discussing good faith here. We're discussing my lack of capability. The final decision rests with the two of you. As you both know, I have almost zero involvement in overseas operations. From project initiation, construction, and launch to final operation, I wasn't part of the process for a single one of these dozen or so hotels. Mr. Preston Wipere, I will follow your lead."
Preston's eyes narrowed. Leopold was as slippery as an eel, offering no handhold, no crack in his facade. He was forcing Preston to be the one to explicitly order the transfer of ownership to him.
And in that moment of conversational chess, Leopold finally saw Preston's true objective.
He wasn't just a blade for cutting down enemies. He was also a scythe for clearing the weeds in Preston's own garden.
Preston steepled his fingers on the desk, turning his full attention to Gemma. "I've had my assistant compile all the data on the overseas hotels. Management is fragmented, which has led to an inconsistent brand image. The service and experience our guests receive vary drastically from one location to another. To effectively address these systemic issues, I've decided to consolidate all overseas shares before reallocating them." His tone softened. "Gemma, don't be anxious. What's yours will remain yours. But for now, we need everyone to put aside their personal interests."
The answer was so deliberately ambiguous that even Leopold found himself taking a silent, deep breath. Gemma was practically vibrating with suspicion.
If this restructuring succeeded, all the overseas hotels would fall under Preston's direct control.
"Gemma," Preston said, his face morphing into a mask of sincerity, "you're not Mr. Anderson. You're my wife. We're family. The hotels are under our family name, so whether it's you or Leopold managing them, why does it matter? You need to look at who's controlling the big picture. Don't let Mr. Anderson's influence get to you. If he succeeds in driving a wedge between us, it only creates an opening for an outsider like him to exploit. If that leads to more trouble, the losses will be far greater."
An almost imperceptible shift crossed Gemma's face.
Preston knew he had her. He pressed his advantage, his voice a hypnotic murmur. "Gemma, this whole performance is for the other shareholders. If I don't reclaim your ownership first, how can I possibly negotiate with them? You've seen the report Leopold sent. You understand those numbers better than I do. The market share we're losing, the profits we're bleeding every year… does it not break your heart to see it? Celestial Waters Hotel is our brand. We built it together, like raising our own child. Now, the international presence we fought so hard to establish is facing massive losses due to mismanagement. If we let this continue, we'll be staring down the barrel of bankruptcy. Is that what you want to see?"
Gemma's eyelashes fluttered. A flicker of pain crossed her features, and her lips parted as if to speak, the words catching in her throat.
"Gemma, at this critical juncture, I need you to stand behind me. This is for the future of Celestial Waters Hotel." Preston's tone shifted again, a hint of strategic resignation creeping in. "But if you're truly unwilling, then forget it. I'll just have to talk to the other directors and see if they're willing to hand over their hotels." He paused for effect. "I just dread the moment they ask me, 'Has Ms. Adams turned over her hotels yet?' I'd be so cornered I wouldn't have a single word to say."
Leopold watched the masterclass in manipulation unfold. The sheer, ruthless duplicity of it all. It was a family that devoured its own.
Now he understood. It wasn't just about him, the illegitimate son. Even Preston's own wife was a pawn to be sacrificed. Suddenly, Leopold had a profound understanding of why Quinlan had fled Seaside City for a place as far away as Silverpeak.
Being with a man like Preston meant living in a constant state of high-strung anxiety, never knowing when you'd be moved across the board and sacrificed for his game.
"Gemma." Preston rose and moved to the sofa beside her. He poured her a glass of water and offered it. "Have a drink. Think it over. There's no rush."
He said there was no rush, but Leopold could practically see the flames of impatience licking at the edges of his composure.
Gemma stared at the glass, her mind racing. She looked up at Preston, saw the manufactured sincerity in his eyes, and finally, she gave a slow, deliberate nod.
"Fine," she said, her voice tight. "I agree."
"That's my girl," Preston said, pressing the glass into her hand and squeezing it. "When the going gets tough, you can always count on your spouse."
A wave of revulsion washed over Leopold. He couldn't begin to imagine what Quinlan would think if she saw this scene.
The paperwork was processed with chilling efficiency. As soon as Leopold had signed the documents, he prepared to leave, but Preston's voice stopped him.
Gemma was gone. Preston's voice was low and menacing. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"
Leopold adopted an air of feigned innocence. "What are you referring to?"
Preston shot him a cold glare. "Don't think I don't see your little games. You're a long way from being able to outsmart me."
Leopold's gaze remained placid. "Mr. Preston Wipere, I know my place. But we have a business arrangement. I help you, you help me. There are no games involved. You're overthinking it." He straightened his jacket. "If there's nothing else, I'll be going. Mr. Anderson is now your problem to persuade."
With that, Leopold turned and walked out of the room.