Chapter 152 Shocking Everyone

Chapter 152 Shocking Everyone

She pulled the all-black encrypted phone from her trench coat pocket with one hand, fingers flying across the screen.

A second later, the massive LCD screen at the center of the ballroom, normally used to display antiques, blazed to life.

A specially decrypted document was projected in front of everyone.

"The North American West Coast Children's Welfare Fund." Isabelle's voice was cool and sharp, each word landing like a hammer in the room. "On the surface, a charity. In reality, a perfect money-laundering shell. The three hundred million dollars raised at tonight's auction will be routed through thirteen offshore companies in the Cayman Islands within twenty-four hours and deposited in batches into accounts on the European dark web. That's what you people call philanthropy."

The room erupted.

The screen was covered in a dense web of fund flow charts, offshore account registration details, and itemized transaction records for every laundered dollar, clear enough to make your skin crawl.

The warm smile finally froze on Alfie's face.

A flash of something deeply dangerous crossed his eyes, but years of undercover work kicked in fast, and he pulled himself together.

He let out a sigh and put on a pained, helpless expression, turning to Isabelle. "Miss Morgan, I have no idea where you got these forged documents. I've heard your mental state hasn't been great lately, there were even some incidents at school. If you need help, I can connect you with the best psychiatrist in Washington. But please don't pull a stunt like this for attention. It's not fair to the children who actually need help."

Mental illness.

The accusation was vicious, and it landed perfectly against the biases these powerful people already held about Isabelle.

The guests who hadn't yet left were instantly lit up with outrage.

To them, their generosity and status had just been trampled in public by a lunatic.

"This is outrageous! She forged documents to frame Mr. Kalyn!"

"She's completely unhinged! Where's security? Get this psycho out of here!"

"Call the police! She needs to answer for this slander!"

A mob surged forward, trying to close in on Isabelle.

Lila hung back in the crowd, eyes full of venom, fueling the fire.

Sean's expression went completely cold.

A terrifying darkness stirred in his deep black eyes. He raised one hand slightly.

Bang.

The heavy ballroom doors were shoved open with brutal force.

Dozens of fully armed Everlight bodyguards in all-black suits poured in like a dark tide, instantly sealing every exit.

Their movements were precise and synchronized, faces blank. No guns were drawn, but the killing edge they carried, forged through years of blood and bodies, dropped the temperature in the room to zero.

Akin and Flynn moved fast, cutting through the crowd and forming an airtight wall of bodies around Isabelle, locking her inside an absolutely secure perimeter.

The guests who had been screaming for Isabelle's head moments ago went silent like ducks grabbed by the throat.

They stared at these lethal, statue-still bodyguards, faces drained of color, stumbling backward, not daring to make a sound or even glance in Isabelle's direction.

Sean stood at Isabelle's side, one hand in his pocket. He looked out over the room from above, voice cold as ice, carrying a pressure that made your chest tighten. "Anyone who lays a finger on her loses the hand."

The vast ballroom fell into a dead silence.

The situation was completely locked down.

Isabelle calmly swiped her phone screen.

The image on the big display shifted abruptly.

Gone were the dry financial records. In their place: a set of highly classified dark web archive photos.

The photos showed Alfie in tactical camouflage, holding an M200 high-precision sniper rifle.

His eyes were cold and calculating, like a snake's. Behind his left ear was a distinct black tattoo.

The mark exclusive to Syndicate's core members.

"Zela." Isabelle looked at Alfie, whose color had drained from his face, and said the name with complete calm. "Core member of the Syndicate. Top-tier sniper. The Brussels Assassination three years ago. The Mexico City firefight last year. Both had your fingerprints all over them. How does it feel to launder blood money through charity?"

Dead silence.

Every guest stared in horror at the polished philanthropist on stage, looking at him like they were seeing a demon.

Alfie's eyes locked onto the photos, and what was left of his mask finally shattered completely.

His body tensed involuntarily, muscles snapping into full tactical readiness.

These files were the highest-level classified material from Syndicate headquarters, not even the FBI could get their hands on them. How did a college freshman get ahold of this?

He snapped his head toward Isabelle, eyes sharp as a blade.

That familiar way of operating. That arrogance that treated everything like it was beneath her. And the completely flat tone she'd used to expose him just now.

A thought, absurd beyond reason, yet chilling to the bone, began to tear through his mind.

Isabelle stood inside Sean's protective ring, meeting Alfie's unsettled, searching gaze.

A slow, bloodthirsty curve spread across her cold features. She said nothing. She just watched him, and silently mouthed a few words: I'm here to settle the score.

Watching her lips move, Alfie's mind exploded.

Nyx?

Impossible.

That woman had died in the explosion at Base Seven. Nothing left.

But the look in Isabelle's eyes right now, that arrogance that crushed everything beneath it, sent him into a dead freeze.

Before he could react, a sharp wail of sirens cut through from outside the ballroom.

The heavy doors were slammed open.

Dozens of fully armed FBI agents flooded the room, black gun barrels snapping onto Alfie immediately.

"FBI! Drop your weapon, hands on your head!" the lead agent barked.

Guests screamed and scattered in every direction.

Alfie's muscles seized. The survival instinct honed across years on the edge of death moved his right hand automatically toward the holster at his lower back.

"Alfie, or should we say Zela." The agent clocked the move and drew, chambering a round. "The offshore account transactions, dark web trade records, and the full body of evidence on the money laundering tied to your foundation, we have all of it. Don't make this harder than it needs to be. There's nowhere to go."

At the words solid evidence, Alfie stopped.

He knew that drawing now meant only one thing.

He slowly let his hand go and raised both above his head.

Cold handcuffs snapped hard around his wrists.

As two agents marched him toward the exit, Alfie passed Isabelle.

He stared at her, eyes full of poison and barely contained fury.

Isabelle stood with one hand in her pocket and didn't give him so much as a sideways glance.

After Alfie was taken away, the ballroom held its silence for a few seconds, then completely erupted.

The reporters who had been pointing fingers at Isabelle just moments ago now surged toward her like sharks catching the scent of blood.

"Miss Morgan! How did you get classified FBI documents?"