Inside the Harrington mansion in Beverly Hills, the atmosphere had turned toxic.
Through my sources—staff members whose salaries I had quietly doubled in exchange for loyalty—I knew everything that was happening behind those walls. Margaret Harrington and Vanessa were at constant war. Vanessa, spoiled and ruthless, refused to take orders from her mother-in-law. Daniel, weak as ever, had retreated into alcohol, avoiding the reality that Harrington Global was on the brink of collapse and desperately needed a five-hundred-million-dollar capital injection to survive.
One report described a violent argument that echoed through the mansion’s halls. Vanessa had thrown a crystal glass against the wall, shattering it into pieces as she screamed at Daniel. Her voice, sharp with panic, accused him of incompetence. She warned him that her father had already heard rumors of federal investigations circling their offshore accounts in Miami. If Daniel failed to secure the emergency financing from an international investor, she said, they would all end up behind bars.
What they didn’t know—what none of them could even imagine—was that the “Asian investment group” and the “European fund” Daniel had been chasing for weeks were nothing more than carefully constructed fronts… controlled entirely by me. I had watched them struggle. I had watched them sweat. I had let them believe they still had a chance.
And then, finally, I set the stage for the final act.
Henry Lawson arranged the decisive meeting for the financial rescue deal. The location was the private executive hall of the Beverly Hills Hotel. The terms were simple—and brutal. In exchange for clearing their debts and injecting the capital they so desperately needed, the Harrington family would surrender fifty-one percent of Harrington Global.
Cornered.
Terrified of imminent collapse—and prison.
They had no choice but to agree.
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