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CHAPTER 38: THE STRANGER

ผู้เขียน: Jessechi
last update วันที่เผยแพร่: 2026-07-22 18:23:56

POV: Roman Ashford

"There's a man in the lobby who says he needs to speak with you about your father's estate," Marcus said, appearing in Roman's office doorway with an expression of careful neutrality that Roman had learned, over the years, usually meant something considerably more complicated than the words suggested. "He doesn't have an appointment. He says his name is Julian Marchetti."

"I don't know anyone by that name," Roman said, not looking up from the quarterly report he'd been review
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  • The Billionaires Greatest Regret   CHAPTER 172: THE MAN WITH THE LIMP

    POV: Oliver Hale "I'm looking for Grace," the man said. "Grace Ashford. Please. I was told she was here." He stood in the hotel lobby beneath a chandelier that scattered light across the floor like spilled coins. Thomas had come down in his socks, because the baby had finally gone to sleep and he'd been in the middle of untangling a mandolin string. He stopped three steps from the bottom of the staircase and did not move. The stranger was heavyset, in his late sixties, with a salt-and-pepper beard and a rumpled gray raincoat. He leaned on a cane. When he shifted his weight, Thomas saw the limp, slight but unmistakable. Left leg. "Who's asking?" Thomas said. "My name is Anton Hale. I'm her husband's uncle." "Her husband's uncle is Gerald's brother." "Yes." "The one who hasn't spoken to Gerald in thirty years." "Yes." The man smiled without humor. "Is that what he tells people? I suppose it is easier." Thomas considered him. He was a gentle man by nature, a cellist who had spe

  • The Billionaires Greatest Regret   CHAPTER 171: THE NIGHT KATYA WAS THERE

    POV: Katya Lindgren "That's a lie," Katya said. "That is a filthy lie." She was on her feet. Her chair had gone over backward and lay on the marble like a dropped thing. Her face was bone white, her hands shaking so hard that the glass beside her plate chimed against the silver. Around the white table, nobody breathed. "Is it?" Brandt asked mildly. "I was in Zurich. I was in my flat in Zurich with Henrik. He'll tell you." "Henrik was in London that week. On a business trip. I have the airline record." "You do not." "I have everything, child. It is what I do." Henrik's name hung in the air like a fallen glass. Vivienne glanced at Katya's face and saw something she had not expected: not guilt, not even fear, but a stunned, wide-eyed confusion, as though the old man had spoken in a language she had never learned. Under the table, Katya's left hand had closed around the napkin and was twisting it into a rope. "Katya," Alexei said. His voice was very low. "Sit down." "No." "Katy

  • The Billionaires Greatest Regret   CHAPTER 170: THE SALON BLANC

    POV: Vivienne Ashford "I do not like this," Alexei said. "I want it noted that I do not like this." "Noted," said Roman. "A black car at the airport. A private club. A lunch." He stood at the window of the hotel suite in Geneva with the lake spread like pewter below him and the Alps floating faint and white beyond. "It is how my father used to trap people. He would be so courteous they forgot to run." "Then we won't forget." "You say that with such confidence." "I'm hiding how terrified I am." "Ah." Alexei glanced back. "That is what I thought." It was nine in the morning. The suite smelled of coffee and fresh pastries. Vivienne sat on the sofa with a hotel pad on her knee, scribbling. Priya had her laptop open on a writing desk. The others were next door, Maya and Thomas, Leo with the baby asleep in a travel crib, Katya and Henrik with their boys. It was the most people Vivienne had ever tried to protect in one hotel. "The club is called the Cercle des Banquiers," she said.

  • The Billionaires Greatest Regret   CHAPTER 169: THE GRAY CAR

    POV: Vivienne Ashford "Don't look at it," Vivienne said. "Walk normally. Talk about lunch." "Lunch," Roman said blankly. "Anything. Talk about soup." They crossed the parking lot of the federal detention center with three yards between each of them. Alexei walked a pace behind, hands in his coat pockets. Katya had stayed at the house. The wind blew litter across the asphalt and a flag snapped on a pole overhead. Fifty feet away, the gray sedan idled with its windows tinted black. "The soup in the prison cafeteria smells of boiled cabbage," Roman said, in a tone of wooden calm. "Does it?" "Yes. I once had a client in jail. For three years I smelled cabbage every Tuesday." "Did you enjoy it?" "I was on the *outside.*" Alexei made a small, strangled noise that might have been a laugh. "You two are the worst actors I have ever seen." "Be quiet," Vivienne murmured. "Unlock the car." Roman pressed the fob. The rental SUV chirped. As they drew near, the sedan's engine cut off. A

  • The Billionaires Greatest Regret   CHAPTER 168: SIX MILLION, NOT FOUR HUNDRED

    POV: Vivienne Ashford "Read it again," Roman said. "Slowly. I want every word." Arthur held the small gray notebook open under the lamp. They sat in the study of the Westchester house, the door closed, the house asleep around them. Vivienne beside her husband. Katya on the sofa with her knees drawn up. Alexei by the window with his arms folded, silent, watching Arthur's hands as if the pages might burst into flame. The old lawyer cleared his throat. His voice was dry as paper. "Eleanor's entry, dated March 2022. 'Had Dr. Wehrli in Geneva run the test I have wanted to run for fifty years. Sent my own blood and Roman's, from the glass he left at Christmas. Result arrived today. Edmund Ashford is his father. Ninety-nine point nine percent. I have sat in the garden for three hours and cannot stop laughing.'" Roman made a sound. It was not quite a word. "'All my life I told myself he was Dmitri's. I told myself I had spoiled my only child with lies. It was the other way round. I lied

  • The Billionaires Greatest Regret   CHAPTER 167: THE THERMOS

    POV: Roman Ashford "Pause it," Roman said. "There. Right there." The footage was gray and grainy, shot from a ceiling camera at the end of a hospital corridor. A clock in the corner read 21:04. The Westchester study was dim and close, curtains drawn, a single lamp burning. Vivienne sat on the arm of Roman's chair. Arthur, in the corner, held a glass of water he had not touched. Katya and Alexei stood at opposite walls, as far apart as the room allowed. On the screen, a small woman in a gray coat walked down the corridor with a thermos clutched in both hands. She moved slowly. She stopped outside a door and looked at it for what felt like a very long time. "That's her," Roman said. "That's my mother." "Yes," Alexei said. "She looks frightened." "She looks guilty." "Those aren't the same." "In my experience they usually are." Nobody spoke while the clock on the screen crawled. Vivienne found herself counting the seconds under her breath, the way she had once counted contractio

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