Chapter 122 His Sudden Appearance
Scarlett didn't care about Wesley's attempt to suppress her with bribery; her mind was entirely focused on the meeting. After the meeting, she accompanied the key personnel for a meal at a restaurant next to the company.
At the dinner table, Scarlett spoke very little and spent the whole time listening, which was a bit of a contrast to her being articulate and talkative at work.
This caught the attention of the company's people. Heath, as the company's representative, was sharp-eyed and noticed it, so he thoughtfully called out to Scarlett.
"Ms. Mellon, as the lead designer, surely you owe our distinguished guests a toast."
My gaze drifted coolly toward Heath, a smile playing on my lips but never reaching my eyes. "Even if I were to toast our esteemed guests, I couldn't possibly presume to do so before my superior, Mr. Rivera."
The implication hung in the air, sharp and clear: Your move, Heath.
Knowing I wasn't one to be easily cornered, Heath put on a show of magnanimity. He filled his glass to the brim, the dark liquid sloshing near the edge, and raised it high.
"To our honored guests! A toast to our partnership. I'll drink to that, and you can all sip at your leisure."
"Mr. Rivera," I interjected smoothly, my voice calm and measured. "As a director at The Boleyn Group, a single toast hardly seems sufficient. To truly show your sincerity, shouldn't you honor each of our guests individually?"
Four guests. Four glasses.
I watched, a faint, detached smile on my face, as the realization dawned on Heath. He had walked right into the trap I'd laid. He was the one who insisted on drinking, and now he had to see it through. He gritted his teeth and, one by one, raised his glass to each guest, forcing down four full glasses of wine.
By the time he finished, he was looking a little unsteady. I leaned forward, my voice dripping with faux sincerity. "Mr. Rivera, your capacity for alcohol is truly impressive. We are not worthy."
Without missing a beat, I picked up my own glass. "To our guests," I said, my voice ringing with genuine respect. "I raise this single glass to all of you. When this project concludes in perfect success, I promise to join you for a night of celebration where we don't go home until we're all seeing double."
My words boxed Heath in completely. He couldn't possibly demand I match his four-drink penance now. The clients, already impressed by my professional competence, weren't about to pressure me.
And so, with a single, elegant toast, I honored everyone. Heath, on the other hand, was four glasses deep and fuming silently.
After lunch, we all stood outside the restaurant, seeing the clients off. Once their cars had pulled away, I turned to head back to the office, but Heath's voice stopped me.
"Ms. Mellon, you continue to amaze me. Not only are you a brilliant designer, but your talent for manipulation is truly next-level. I'm impressed."
I paused and turned back, a polite smile fixed on my face. "You give me too much credit, Mr. Rivera. When dining with a superior, one must never steal the spotlight. It's a cardinal sin in the corporate world, a lesson I've taken to heart."
Since he was already on the attack, I decided to meet him head-on. "The other day, you mentioned a 'tradition' for new hires involving alcohol. Today, you were advocating for drinks again. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were targeting me specifically."
My words were smooth, leaving him no room to maneuver. He could only force a tight laugh.
"In important settings, a little social drinking is necessary. It's part of the game. You must have done plenty of this at The Ross Group, right? I heard that's how you landed the Smith contract—by drinking him under the table. Why so precious now that you're at The Boleyn Group?"
Though he was smiling, his words were poisoned darts aimed straight at my past.
But I remained unruffled. "It seems you've done your homework on me, Mr. Rivera," I said with a placid smile. "And you're right, that kind of thing was expected at The Ross Group. It's precisely why I left to come to The Boleyn Group. But are you suggesting that a powerhouse like The Boleyn Group operates on the same level as a small-time firm like The Ross Group?"
He was caught in my verbal trap, his expression faltering. Before he could formulate a response, I pressed my advantage. "A comment like that, if it were to reach the ears of upper management… well, the implications could be quite different. You should choose your words more carefully."
Just then, my phone buzzed inside my handbag. Saved by the bell. "That's my phone," I said, my smile widening slightly. "I have to take this. I'll see you back at the office."
As I turned, I slipped my hand into my bag and pulled out the phone. The name on the screen made my brow furrow in annoyance, but I answered anyway.
"There's been an accusation regarding the Gold Valley District project," Wesley's voice crackled through the speaker. "Someone is claiming you accepted a bribe. The company is launching an internal investigation. You need to come back this afternoon to be questioned."
I gripped the phone tighter. "You're investigating this yourselves?"
"We'll do a preliminary check. Depending on what we find, we'll decide how to proceed."
"Do you really think you can conduct an impartial investigation? Even if you reach a conclusion, I won't trust it. This needs to go straight to the police. I'll cooperate fully with them, but not with you." My tone was final.
There was a pause on the other end. "Are you sure you want to involve the police? Cleo has already confessed to taking the money."
My steps faltered. Cleo confessed? That was impossible. Was Wesley bluffing, or had something truly terrible happened?
I hung up and immediately dialed Cleo's number. It went straight to voicemail. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. Something was wrong.
Back at the office, I quickly delegated the afternoon's tasks to my team, told Heath I had a personal emergency, and left The Boleyn Group, heading straight for my old stomping grounds.
When I walked into The Ross Group, the receptionist, bless her, was still the same. She greeted me with a polite smile, and knowing exactly why I was there, waved me through without any questions.
I went to the design department first, but Cleo's desk was empty. My heart hammered against my ribs as I made my way to Wesley's office.
He was waiting for me, his expression unreadable as I stormed in. He looked as if he'd been expecting me all along.
"Where is Cleo?" I demanded.
"You can't see her right now," he said, his voice low and dark from behind his massive desk.
"Do you really think I don't know what you're trying to pull?" I shot back, my voice hard as steel. "You're wrong if you think you can intimidate me. I called the police before I came here. They should be arriving any minute."
I had no idea what was happening with Cleo, but I knew her. She would never take a bribe. Calling the cops was the only way to cut through Wesley's games.
To my surprise, Wesley remained perfectly calm. "Fine," he said with a chilling lack of emotion. "Let the police investigate."
And just as I'd bluffed, they arrived. After a brief explanation of the situation, they informed us that everyone involved would need to be taken to the station for questioning.
It was only then, as we were being escorted out, that I finally saw Cleo. She looked exhausted, her face etched with worry. Our eyes met for a fleeting second, a silent exchange of fear and confusion, before we were separated for interrogation. We couldn't speak.
At the station, we were taken to separate rooms to give our statements. I had barely begun when Felix appeared, introducing himself as my lawyer and smoothly handling all the legal formalities.
When I walked out of the interrogation room, he was waiting. He wanted to leave, but I couldn't. I had to wait for Cleo, to understand what was going on. He, ever the patient guardian, waited with me.
Cleo emerged a short while later. I rushed to her, grabbing her hands. They were ice-cold. "What is happening? Tell me everything."
She looked at me, her eyes swimming with regret. "Ms. Mellon… I think I made a terrible mistake."
"Just tell me," I urged, my voice soft.
"For the Gold Valley project… there was a design fee paid in cash. I was the one who collected it, and I signed a receipt." Her voice trembled, and she looked close to tears. "I swear, I read it carefully. It clearly stated ‘design fee.' But they must have altered it afterward… they changed it to say ‘design bribe.'"
She took a shaky breath. "I deposited that cash with the finance department right away. I swear I did."