The Billionaire's Stolen Heiress のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 141 - チャプター 150

The morning light was harsh, piercing through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the De La Fonte office. It was a view that was supposed to represent success—the entire city laid out like a carpet beneath us—but standing here, I felt only the weight of the air.Catrina was at the desk, her fingers flying across a tablet, reviewing the preliminary audit reports. She looked tired, the shadows under her eyes deep, but her focus was ironclad."The discrepancies in the logistics division are staggering," she said, not looking up. "Carlos didn't just embezzle. He was leveraging the entire shipping infrastructure to cover for private debt. He was running two sets of books. One for the board, one for his own offshore accounts."I walked over, leaning against the edge of the desk, looking at the red lines on her screen. "It’s a house of cards. If we go public with this, the market cap will drop by forty percent in an hour.""If we don't go public, we’re complicit," she countered, her voice sharp.

I stood in the shadows of the loading dock, the city lights reflected in the dark, oily water of the harbor. My phone buzzed in my pocket—a confirmation signal. The audit logs had been accessed. The "surveillance" trail was active.I watched as a crane swung a container onto a cargo ship, the sound of metal groaning under the weight a fitting soundtrack to the night. I had spent months cleaning up those files, scrubbing away the real signatures and replacing them with Halloway’s digital footprint. It was a masterpiece of corporate forgery."You think she’ll fall for it?" the man beside me—my driver—asked."She’s already falling," I said, lighting a fresh cigarette. "She’s got the rage, she’s got the intelligence, and now, she has the target. She doesn't have the patience to question why the evidence is so convenient. She’s too busy trying to settle a twenty-year-old score."I took a long drag, the smoke filling my lungs. Holloway was a bloated, corrupt relic of the old empire. He was

The media fallout was not a storm; it was a tidal wave.By the time I reached the lobby of the De La Fonte tower, the front of the building was a chaotic sea of camera flashes, shouting reporters, and flashing blue lights. The news had leaked—somehow, the story of the Holloway investigation had reached the tabloids, the wire services, and the morning papers all within the same ninety-minute window."Catrina! Over here!""Ms. Lombardi, is it true the Chairman has been arrested for a twenty-year-old homicide?""What is your comment on the allegations of a systematic cover-up?"“Ms. Catrina you came to the company as M. Maria before now you are Catrina aren't you also a fraud hiding in shells?”Julian took my arm, his grip firm as he steered me through the mob. Security guards formed a human wall, but the frenzy was absolute. The De La Fonte name was a magnet for catastrophe, and now, it was a lightning rod for history itself.We made it into the armored transport, the heavy doors slammi

The rain in this city never felt like a cleansing; it felt like a burial. I stood in the darkened corner of my safe house, the only light provided by the glowing array of monitors that fed me the digital lifeblood of the De La Fonte empire. My phone buzzed—a short, sharp vibration that signaled an alert from my bypass in the hospital’s security grid.Subject 1: Lucid Interval. Verbal exchange recorded with Catrina Lombardi.I didn't need to hear the audio to know what had been said. I had seen the look on the Matriarch’s face through the grain of the hidden camera I’d installed in the ventilation duct weeks ago. I saw the way she had gripped Catrina’s wrist. I saw the way her lips moved, forming the words that were meant to stay buried in the wreckage of a twenty-year-old fire."Damn it," I hissed, the sound echoing in the empty room.I walked to the window, watching the street below. I had played this game with surgical precision. I had allowed Catrina to find the logs that destroyed

The landscape had shifted from the gleaming glass of the city to the jagged, skeletal remains of the industrial north. Here, the rain didn't just fall; it clung to the rusted iron of old warehouses and the cracked pavement of roads that led to nowhere. It was a place where things were sent to be forgotten—or hidden.I sat in the passenger seat of the SUV, my eyes fixed on the GPS monitor. The blue dot representing our vehicle was crawling toward a cluster of buildings at the edge of the shipping district. According to Julian’s team, this was the site of the logistics firm that didn't exist.Julian was driving, his hands tight on the wheel, his knuckles white. He hadn't spoken since we left the hospital. The silence between us was no longer the comfortable, tactical silence of two partners in a war; it was heavy, laden with the unsaid. Every time he glanced at me, I saw the flicker of something else in his eyes—not just the loyalty he had for Catrina, but the haunting memory of the wo