Semua Bab Fame or Revenge? The billionaire heiress choice. : Bab 31 - Bab 40

LeoNicholas calls at six in the morning, which means it's important. I'm already awake, running through case files at my kitchen table when my secure phone buzzes with his number."Nick," I answer, setting down my coffee."We need to meet. One hour. The usual place." Nicholas says."Copy that."The line goes dead.I shower quickly and dress in neutral colors—gray slacks, navy button-down. Nothing that draws attention. The "usual place" is a bench in Rock Creek Park, isolated enough for privacy but public enough to seem normal We've used it for dead drops and briefings for the past two years.Nicholas is already there when I arrive, feeding the ducks with stale bread he probably bought specifically for cover. "Walk with me," he says without looking up.I fall into step beside him, and we move along the path away from other early morning joggers and dog walkers. For the first few minutes, neither of us speaks. This is standard protocol—sweep for surveillance, ensure we're not being fo

LeoThe next four weeks are intensive in Murray Enterprises. Malcolm walks me through their entire operation—shipping routes from Rotterdam to Baltimore, container tracking systems, customs broker relationships, distribution networks that span three continents.On the surface, it's all legitimate. Textiles from Italy, electronics from South Korea, machinery from Germany. Standard import-export operations for a mid-sized company with good relationships and efficient logistics.But I'm trained to see the gaps. And once I start looking, they're everywhere.Shipments that take circuitous routes through multiple ports when a direct route would be faster and cheaper. Containers whose weights don't match their declared contents. Clients whose ordering patterns make no sense for their stated business type. Payments that route through shell corporations in the Cayman Islands, Cyprus, Singapore.I photograph documents when I'm alone in the office after hours. I memorize client names and accoun

LeoThe manila folder lands on my desk with a soft thud. I look up to find Fernandez standing there, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the office. It's nearly 9 PM, and everyone else went home hours ago."Open it," he says.Inside are financial statements—but not the sanitized versions we show auditors. These are the real books. Accounts in the Cayman Islands, Cyprus, Singapore. Money moving through shell corporations with names like Meridian Holdings and Blue Harbor Investments. Millions of dollars flowing in patterns that make no sense for a legitimate import-export business."You're showing me this because..." I let the question hang."Because I need someone I can trust." Fernandez sits in the chair across from my desk, looking older than usual. Tired. "Malcolm's good at logistics. Patricia handles administration perfectly. But I need someone who understands the bigger picture. Someone who can see the whole board, not just their piece of it."I keep my face neutral even

"Because I want this to be ours. Something between us and your family, not something for the whole world to have opinions about." His hands move to cup my face. "Is that okay? Can we keep this private for a little while?"The request is strange, but I find myself nodding. "Okay. A secret wedding. Just us and whoever we absolutely need.""Thank you." He kisses me, soft and gentle. "I promise I'm taking this seriously. I promise you're not making a mistake."But later that night, as I'm lying in bed scrolling through wedding planning websites, I find myself thinking about Emma. About how she would have been my maid of honor. How we would have spent hours looking at dresses and debating whether to have roses or peonies, laughing about ridiculous wedding traditions.I haven't heard from her in two months. Not since I blocked her number, not since that confrontation in the warehouse where she admitted she wanted Leonard for herself. Sometimes I wonder where she went, if she's okay, if she

OliviaI watch Leonard from across the restaurant table, and he's doing that thing again—checking his phone with that slight furrow between his eyebrows that means it's work. Dad's work. The third time in twenty minutes."Everything okay?" I ask, though I already know the answer."Yeah, sorry. Just a shipping issue your dad needs me to handle." He types out a quick response, then sets the phone face-down. "Where were we?""We were talking about the wedding venue, but I'm starting to think you're not actually here."He reaches across the table for my hand. "I'm here. I'm listening.""Are you?" I pull my hand back, frustration bubbling up. "Because you've been glued to that phone all night. You canceled our dinner plans twice last week. And when we do manage to see each other, you're always distracted, always thinking about whatever crisis is happening at Murray Enterprises.""Olivia, that's not fair. Your father is trusting me with major responsibilities—""I know. Believe me, I know.