Chapter 156
Chapter 156:
“Just send it,” Skye said.
She stepped out of the elevator.
The hunt was on.
The boardroom of Kensington Global was in chaos.
“You cannot be serious, Liam p>
The shout came from Archibald, the oldest board member. His face was purple. “Proxy rights to her? She’s a competitor! She’s hostile p>
Liam sat at the head of the table. He was calm—unnaturally calm. He pushed the document across the polished mahogany.
“It’s my vote,” Liam said. “I can delegate it if I wish. I choose to delegate it to Skye for the upcoming strategic review p>
Skye sat at the other end of the table. She didn’t smile. She didn’t gloat. She picked up the pen.
“This is irrevocable,” Skye noted, reading the fine print.
“Yes,” Liam said. “No take-backs p>
“And no conditions p>
“Just one,” Liam said softly. “That you see it for what it is. An apology p>
Skye signed. The ink was black. The signature was sharp.
With that stroke of the pen, she became the most powerful external voice in Kensington Global. She now had the power to veto Liam. She had the power to destroy him from the inside—and he had handed her the weapon.
“Thank you, Liam,” Skye said.
She stood. “I have to go. I have some… cleaning up to do p>
She left the room. The board members erupted into shouting, but Liam just watched the door close.
Skye didn’t go to dinner. She went to her car. She checked her phone.
𝘙еа𝘥 th𝗲 r𝘦а𝗹 ѕ𝘵𝗈𝗋𝘆 о𝗇 bе𝗅nov𝗲𝗅ѕ.𝖼o𝗆
Alistair had sent the file.
Timothy Hayes had confessed under… duress. He had been paid off to close the Eleanor Thorne case by a woman named Alice Jones, who claimed the girl had run away to Europe. But Timothy had kept a log. He’d noted that Alice had a daughter, Sarah, who suddenly started wearing expensive clothes and carrying a locket with the Thorne crest.
“The Castle,” Skye whispered, recalling Alice’s words from the report. “Sarah wanted the Castle p>
She drove to the coordinates Gabriel had sent her for Alice’s current location. The docks were a maze of shipping containers and rusted warehouses. It was the part of the city tourists never saw.
She found the car parked under a flickering streetlight. It was a beat-up Toyota, filled with trash bags.
Alice Jones sat in the driver’s seat, smoking a cigarette that was mostly ash. Skye tapped on the window.
Alice jumped. She rolled it down, revealing a face ravaged by years of bad choices.
“Who are you?” Alice rasped. “I don’t have any money p>
“I’m not here for money,” Skye said. She held up her phone, showing the photo of Eleanor Thorne. “I’m here about her p>