Chapter 189
Chapter 189:
Anson looked at them with pure, undisguised contempt. “You people are parasites. You fed off her misery while I paid to keep her alive p>
“Perhaps,” Margo shrugged, entirely unmoved. “But we have the host. And right now, the host is for sale to the highest bidder p>
“Mr. Luna made a very generous offer this evening,” Buck added, his voice gathering confidence now that the leverage was laid out on the table. “He’s willing to clear the estate’s debt entirely. And provide a nest egg. All for Eliza p>
Anson went still. The name Luna was a threat he understood completely. Dante Luna was a thug in a bespoke suit — a man who broke things for amusement.
𝖩𝘰iո our 𝖼о𝗆𝗺𝘂𝘯𝗶𝗍у o𝗇 ѕ.с𝗈𝘮
“You were going to give her to Luna?” he asked, his voice dropping to something dangerously quiet.
“We have to survive, Anson,” Margo sighed, with theatrical resignation. “Unless… there’s a counter-offer p>
Anson looked at the file on the desk. He looked at the greedy, cornered faces of the people who were supposed to be Eliza’s family. He hated them. He wanted to burn this house to the ground.
But more than that, he wanted her. And he realized, with a twisted, lurching sense of relief, that this was the simplest path. He didn’t have to convince them of anything. He only had to buy them.
“Name your price,” he said. No hesitation. No negotiation.
Buck’s eyes went wide. He exchanged a rapid glance with Margo.
“Five million,” Buck said quickly, aiming high. “And you clear the title on the estate. You pay off the bank foreclosure p>
“Fine,” Anson said.
He pulled out his phone. “I’m liquidating the last emergency trust fund. It’s the only account Dallas’s auditors missed. Every cent I have left.” His thumb moved across the screen with controlled fury. “Done. Five million to the Cayman account I know you maintain.” He looked up. “Now give me the key p>
“The key?” Buck blinked, visibly stunned by the speed of it.
“To wherever you locked her up,” Anson said. “I know you. You didn’t leave her walking around freely p>
“The art studio,” Margo said, gesturing toward the window. “In the garden p>
Anson turned and walked out of the room without another word, leaving the Solomons staring at each other in the sudden quiet. He didn’t care about the money. Five million was nothing against getting her back. He had bought her freedom from them. Now he only had to convince her that he was the hero.
He crossed the garden at pace, his shoes slipping on the wet grass. The art studio emerged from the darkness ahead. He saw the heavy padlock on the door.
Rage flared in his chest. He didn’t have the key. He didn’t need it.
He pulled a multi-tool from his jacket pocket — something he kept in the car for emergencies — and jammed the pry bar beneath the hasp of the lock. With a grunt of effort and a sharp metallic snap, the metal gave way. He threw the broken lock into the bushes.