All Chapters of The Billionaires Greatest Regret: Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

POV: Vivienne Ashford "That isn't my signature," Leo said. "I swear it isn't." "I believe you," Priya said instantly. "Look at the T." She pulled the ledger into the lamplight and the rest of them crowded around the coffee table. The signature was a perfect copy of his scrawl, down to the crooked L. But the final stroke curled the wrong way. "I cross my t's from the left," Leo said. "That one crosses from the right." "Because it's traced," Priya said. "And whoever traced it was left-handed." "Dana's right-handed," Maya said. "She took notes with her right hand at the meeting." "Then it isn't Dana." "Then who?" Nobody spoke. Thunder rolled in the distance, low and long. Oliver sank into a chair, his hands hanging between his knees. "I found it in a toolbox," he said. "At the bottom of a locker my father hasn't paid for in a year. Under a false tray. That's the sort of place he hides things. I knew it would be there because when I was nine he hid my birthday money in the same

POV: Vivienne Ashford "Harlan Boyd," Leo repeated. "The judge." "The retired judge," Maya said. "The one who abstained." "He abstained because he already had what he wanted." Priya paced the length of the dining room with a legal pad in her hand. It was one in the morning. The rain had stopped. On the table lay the cardboard box from Connecticut, its edges scorched, and in front of it sat Roman with a bandage wrapped around his right palm. "Think about it. Six votes to suspend, two against, one abstention. If Boyd had voted yes, he'd look involved. If he'd voted no, he'd lose the six. By abstaining he stays clean and the motion still passes." "He chaired the meeting," Thomas said. "He could have delayed it." "He had the authority to give us until Friday. He chose not to." "A man like that doesn't wake up one morning and decide to wreck a charity," Vivienne said. She sat at the head of the table with her fingers pressed to her temples. "Why would he want it?" Arthur, at the far

POV: Grace "She said gardenias," Priya whispered. "Twice. Then nothing." The van smelled of cold coffee and cello rosin. Thomas sat at the wheel with both hands locked on it. Roman crouched behind him, one knee on the floor, staring at a laptop screen where the audio line had gone to a flat gray hiss. "How long has it been dead?" Roman asked. "Forty seconds." "She gave the signal." "She did." "Then we go." "Roman, wait." Priya caught his sleeve. "If he has a jammer, we can't hear inside, and he can't hear us. If you storm the door, you're breaking into a retired federal judge's home with no warrant and nothing but a word about flowers." "She's my wife." "I know. And she's smart enough to know we'd come." Priya's voice shook, but she held his eyes. "Give me two minutes. I have an idea." "Two minutes is too long." "One, then." Roman looked at her. Then at Thomas. Thomas nodded once. "One," Roman said. Priya spun the laptop around and opened a program. "Jammers work on spe

POV: Vivienne Ashford "Forty seconds," Thomas said. "Somebody count." "I am counting!" Maya had both hands pressed over her mouth. She stood at the rail beside Grace, her sweater soaked to the elbows, her eyes locked on the place where the water had closed over Oliver's head. Behind them the pier was chaos, officers shouting, flashlights sweeping the boards, Gerald struggling in an agent's grip and screaming his son's name. Roman reached the rail at a dead run. Vivienne was right behind him. They had left the van abandoned in the lot with its doors flung wide. He looked down at the black water and saw only ripples. "How long?" "Forty-five seconds," Thomas said. "Where is he?" "Under." Grace's voice was a thread. "He's under. He said ninety seconds." "Then we get a rope," Roman said. "We get a boat hook, a ladder, anything..." "There's a life ring by the stairs," Thomas shouted, and was gone. Vivienne's hand closed over her daughter's. Grace didn't seem to feel it. She was gr

POV: Vivienne Ashford "I'd like to say something before we begin," Katya said. "If the board will permit it." Her voice was clear and small in the vast conference room. It was noon. Rain streaked the tall windows, and the long table was crowded with donors, foundation directors, and three lawyers who had clearly come to take notes. Harlan Boyd sat at the head of it in a dove-gray suit, composed and faintly bored. Elspeth Crane sat on his right with her reading glasses pushed into her silver hair. Vivienne stood behind Katya with one hand on her shoulder. Both of them had been told to wait outside. Neither had. "This session is closed to non-members," Boyd said mildly. "I am a donor," Katya said. "Seven years ago my family wired eleven million dollars to this fund through a Zurich foundation. I believe that makes me a member for the purposes of this hearing." A small stir. Boyd's pen paused. "You're Ms. Volkonsky?" "I'm Katya Lindgren now. But yes." "I wasn't aware you were a