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CHAPTER 54: THE SCOPE OF IT

Author: Jessechi
last update Petsa ng paglalathala: 2026-07-26 20:38:12

POV: Vivienne Ashford

"The documentation Reyes provided is considerably more extensive than I initially expected," Arthur said, spreading printouts across the boardroom table the following morning, dark circles beneath his eyes suggesting he'd spent most of the night reviewing the material Reyes had smuggled out of the consulting firm before his departure. "Financial records spanning nearly six years, communication logs, and what appears to be a partial organizational chart for Volkov's broader
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  • The Billionaires Greatest Regret   CHAPTER 177: THE NURSE AT THE CLINIC

    POV: Vivienne Ashford "She is on shift until six," the receptionist said. "You are welcome to wait." The Clinique des Crêts sat above the lake on a wooded slope, a white modern building with wide glass doors and a garden of clipped box hedges. It smelled of lavender and antiseptic. A fountain in the lobby trickled over smooth stones. Vivienne stood at the desk in her good coat, her hands clenched around her bag, and tried to remember how to breathe. "I'll wait," she said. "May I tell her who is asking?" "Tell her..." She stopped. What was the sentence? *I am your father's other daughter.* *I am the reason you grew up without him.* *I am sorry.* "Tell her a woman named Vivienne has something that belonged to her father." The receptionist frowned politely. "She does not speak of her father." "I know." "She may not wish to see you." "I know that too." Roman touched her elbow. "I'll be in the car." "Stay." "You'll want to do this alone." "I don't want to do it at all," she sa

  • The Billionaires Greatest Regret   CHAPTER 176: THE LETTER FOR VIVIENNE

    POV: Vivienne Ashford "It's a lot of paper for a man who taught English," Roman said. "He taught English for thirty-one years. That's a great deal of grading." Vivienne did not look up. She sat cross-legged on the hotel carpet with the manila folder open before her and its contents fanned out in careful rows, like a game of patience. Photographs, letters, a faded passport page, a yellow telegram. The curtains were drawn against the afternoon. "Don't tell me it's thin. It's the thickest thing I've ever had in my hands." He lowered himself to the floor beside her with a grunt. His knees were no more forgiving than hers. For a minute neither of them spoke. A tram rattled somewhere far below, its bell thin and bright. "Tell me what you've got," he said. "Dates first." She tapped the passport page. "Daniel Marsh. Born 1948, Dayton, Ohio. Entered the Soviet Union on the second of September, 1983, on a cultural exchange visa. A teaching placement at a school in Moscow. Left on the ninet

  • The Billionaires Greatest Regret   CHAPTER 175: THE LAKE AND THE FOLDER

    POV: Vivienne Ashford"You can't take it with you," Roman said. "That's the point of scattering.""I know the point." Katya sat on the stone wall of the lakeside promenade, a small brass urn in her lap, the wind lifting her hair. "I am only saying I did not expect it to be so heavy.""It's four pounds.""Not the urn."He sat down beside her. Below the wall, Lake Geneva stretched away gray and silver under a low sky, the far shore a smear of pale hills, a single white ferry cutting a long wake. It was early. Joggers passed on the path behind them. A swan drifted by, indifferent.Alexei stood a few steps off with his hands in his pockets and his collar turned up. He had not said much since they arrived. Vivienne, a short distance away, watched the three of them from a bench, with a blanket over her knees and a paper cup of coffee in both hands. She had told them she would not intrude. She had come anyway."She was not a good woman," Alexei said."No," said Roman."I wish to say it plain

  • The Billionaires Greatest Regret   CHAPTER 174: NO SIGNATURE

    POV: Vivienne Ashford"Hold the pressure," the paramedic said. "Harder. Like this."Oliver held it. His hands were red to the wrist. Anton Hale lay on the cot in the cramped flat above the watchmaker, his raincoat cut open, his lips the color of ash. The paramedic worked with brisk, silent efficiency, a Swiss woman in a yellow jacket with a braid down her back. Behind her stood two police officers and an ambulance driver, and behind them, in the open doorway, Grace, who had run up four flights without remembering how."Uncle Anton," Oliver said. "Look at me.""I am looking.""Stay awake.""I'm trying. It's very warm in here.""It's not warm.""No?" Anton's eyes drifted toward the ceiling. "I thought it was. I thought it was summer. I was in the yard behind the old house in Maine, and you were standing on the porch with a fishing rod taller than you.""I was six.""You had a sunburn. Right across the nose.""You gave me your hat.""Did I?" A faint smile. "I don't remember that.""I do,

  • The Billionaires Greatest Regret   CHAPTER 173: THE WATCHMAKER'S FLAT

    POV: Leo Ashford "Give me the phone," Leo said. "Give it to me. Now." "Leo, listen..." "Priya, give me the phone!" He was shouting. He had not shouted since he was a boy, and the sound that came out of him was hoarse and unrecognizable. The suite had filled in under a minute. Police, hotel security, a Swiss inspector in a rumpled brown suit, Roman at the window with his fists clenched, Vivienne on the sofa with her arm around Priya. Priya sat rigid and silent, staring at the empty travel crib that someone had righted and set in the middle of the carpet. "There is no one on the line," the inspector said gently. "He has sent the card. He will call at noon. That is what he said." "It is four in the afternoon. It was noon yesterday." "Mr. Ashford..." "I want my daughter!" Priya turned her head. Her face was gray, her eyes huge and dry. She reached up and caught his wrist, and her fingers were ice. "Leo," she said. "Stop." "I can't." "Yes, you can." Her voice was thin but stead

  • 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

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