Chapter 245
“Mr. Holloway,” Gregg panted. “There’s been a misunderstanding. The stock price — the account freeze—”
Amerigo didn’t blink. He slid a thin blue folder across the table.
“Sign it,” he said. His voice was like dry leaves dragged across concrete. “English Holdings becomes a subsidiary of Holloway Group. We’re acquiring you at thirty cents on the dollar.”
Gregg stared at the folder. “Thirty cents? That’s robbery.”
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Amerigo tapped his cane against the floor. Thud. Thud.
“I’m not taking it,” he said calmly. “I’m salvaging it. Your daughter’s performance destroyed your credibility. The banks have already called your loans. Sign the papers — or go to prison for aiding and abetting a felon.”
Gregg’s hand trembled as he reached for the pen.
“One more thing,” Amerigo added. “I want a video.”
Gregg looked up. “What video?”
“Charla,” Amerigo said. “She records a full public apology to Cailin Morton. She admits everything was a fabrication — every accusation, every tear, every threat.”
Gregg’s jaw dropped. “That will destroy her. She’ll be a pariah.”
“Does she have a reputation left to protect?” Amerigo’s eyes narrowed. “My great-grandchildren will not have a mother whose name is entangled with the lies of a lunatic. Cailin Morton’s name must be cleared. Completely.”
He smiled. He was paving the road. Removing obstacles. Ensuring the children came from an untarnished lineage before he moved to claim them.
“Sign. And get the camera rolling.”
Gregg signed. A hundred years of English family legacy, surrendered in seconds.
Miles away, in a sterile, windowless room that smelled of fresh paint and ozone, the air was taut.
This was not the Brooklyn safe house. It was a ghost facility — a corporate short-stay apartment Kegan kept near Teterboro for emergencies. They had slipped through the net.
Ashley paced the plush beige carpet, her fingernails pressing into her palms.
“Auntie Ash?”
Elia’s voice was small. Ashley stopped and forced a smile, turning to the sofa where the three of them — Aron, Davy, and Elia — were huddled together under a cashmere blanket.
“I’m here, bug,” Ashley said, crossing over and smoothing Elia’s hair. “Mommy is just keeping the bad guys busy so we can stay safe.”
“The bad man stopped the plane,” Davy muttered, eyes fixed on his tablet. “I saw it in the code.”
“He’s not just a bad man,” Aron corrected, fingers moving steadily across his own device. “He’s a persistent adversary.”
A holographic projection flickered to life in the center of the room. Kegan’s face appeared, blue-tinted and grim.
“The perimeter is secure,” he said, his voice flattened by encryption. “But Amerigo’s men are swarming the transport hubs. Lay low until Cailin and Hilliard finish their play.”
Before Ashley could respond, the television in the corner flashed a breaking news banner.
She grabbed the remote and unmuted it.
Charla’s face filled the screen. She looked hollowed out — her makeup immaculate, her eyes completely dead — reading from a teleprompter in a studio.
“I, Charla English, would like to formally retract my statements regarding Cailin Morton…”
Ashley went still.