Chapter262 What If Miranda Just Disappeared

Chapter262 What If Miranda Just Disappeared
Celeste stood frozen for only a second before rage and humiliation crashed over her at once.
"If you don't want me as your granddaughter, then who? Miranda?"
She stared at Prescott trembling in the hospital bed, and everything she had been holding back finally burst out of her. She didn't care anymore. She just said it.
"Has it always been only Clifton in your eyes? Now that Clifton is gone, even his wife matters more to you than your own blood? Have I ever meant anything to you at all?"
Prescott was so furious his vision went dark. He raised one shaking finger at her while his other hand pressed hard against his chest. His lips moved but nothing came out.
Celeste looked at the pain on his face and felt nothing close to guilt. What she felt was something far worse, a sick, twisted satisfaction.
Look at that. The grandfather who had always favored Clifton over her couldn't even find words.
She let out a cold, contemptuous laugh and drove the last nail in.
"Fine. If you don't want a granddaughter, then I don't have a grandfather."
She grabbed her bag and walked out without looking back, completely indifferent to the man behind her whose chest was heaving so hard he could barely stay upright.
What she didn't see was the moment the door clicked shut behind her. The light in Prescott's eyes went out. The hand clutching his chest dropped. He collapsed straight back onto the bed and lost consciousness.
Outside the hospital, the anger still hadn't left her.
She spotted the row of decorative trees lining the entrance and walked straight toward them, driving the heel of her shoe into the trunk over and over.
The heel was nearly broken by the time she stopped.
Then Prescott's words came back to her again, sharp and unbidden.
"I don't have a granddaughter like you."
Her nose stung. Her eyes went red before she could stop them, tears blurring at the edges.
Why? She was Prescott's blood too. What did she have that Miranda didn't? What made that outsider more important?
She hadn't even raised her hand to wipe the tears away when she caught a familiar figure rushing through the hospital entrance.
Miranda.
Celeste went rigid. She forced the tears back down through sheer will.
She watched Miranda's back, her knuckles white around the strap of her bag, pressing deep creases into the leather.
Damn her.
Why was she here now? Did Prescott call her?
The thought hit Celeste like a match to dry wood. Whatever small thread of hurt she had been feeling burned away instantly, replaced by something darker.
If Miranda just disappeared entirely, everything would be so much easier.
The thought took root and wouldn't let go.
She stood there for a long time before she finally pulled her gaze away, turned around, and left the hospital without any expression on her face.
--
Upstairs, outside the operating room.
Miranda paced back and forth, unable to stay still. She had been in the middle of processing a document at the office when the hospital called to say Prescott had suffered a heart attack and was in emergency surgery.
She had dropped everything and come immediately.
Please be okay. Please, just be okay.
She repeated it to herself over and over.
In the space of just a few days, the weight of it all had hollowed her out visibly. Her cheeks had thinned, making her eyes look larger and more exhausted.
At the Prescott Group board meeting, she had managed to hold the shareholders in place, using the lingering authority of Clifton's name and the news of her pregnancy to keep them quiet. But with every day that passed and Clifton still missing, those men were growing bolder again. More and more of them were settling into the certainty that he wasn't coming back.
At work, they had started throwing obstacles in her path, quiet ones, delays in projects and approvals held up without explanation.
Even Mia had been running into walls at every turn lately.
And every single day, Miranda asked Prescott's search team and Clifton's men the same question.
Every single day, the answer was the same.
Nothing.
The only way she could keep going was to drown herself in work. When she was too busy to think, the sharp ache in her chest dulled just enough to be bearable.
A little over an hour later, the light above the operating room finally went off.
Miranda followed the doctors and helped wheel Prescott into the intensive care unit. The doctor went through nearly ten minutes of post-operative instructions before he was satisfied she had it all and finally left.
The room went quiet.
Miranda looked at the old man in the bed, still unconscious, his face the color of paper. The back of her throat tightened.
She thought of Clifton again.
Where was he right now?
She was still lost in her thoughts when a weight settled over her shoulders, something warm. A man's jacket had been draped around her.
She snapped back and turned around.
It was Christian.
"Christian." Her voice came out rough with surprise. "What are you doing here?"
Christian looked at her exhausted face and couldn't hide the concern in his eyes.
"I was talking to my doctor and heard you were in the building. Figured I'd come find you." He paused, and something in his expression shifted to something more serious. "I also need to talk to you about something."
The look on his face made Miranda stand up immediately. She kept her voice low. "Let's go to the hall. I don't want to wake him."
Miranda followed Christian back to his room.
The moment they were inside, he turned and locked the door behind them.
That careful, quiet motion made her stomach drop.
"What happened?"
Christian didn't answer right away. He poured her a glass of warm water first, waited until she had taken a few sips, then spoke.
"Mom noticed that Dad has been quietly buying up small parcels of company stock over the past few days and selling them off. It looks like he's trying to move assets."
Miranda set the glass down. "Move them where? To who?"
"I had it looked into." Christian's expression was grim. "The receiving account belongs to Bai Huan. He's converting the shares to cash. For the child she's carrying."
Miranda's grip tightened around the glass until her knuckles went pale.
She had always known her father played favorites. She hadn't imagined he would take it this far. Draining the company he and her mother had built together, for a child that wasn't even born yet, a child from an affair.
"There's one more thing." Christian lowered his voice even further. "Mom also found out that Dad has been meeting very frequently with some of Prescott Group's competitors."