CHAPTER 112: THE TASTE OF BLACKMAIL

Oliver had lied to everyone.

It wasn’t Steven that kept him here—it was Raymond. A quiet, urgent request that had clawed at the back of his mind since the moment it was made. After lunch with Vicky, he drove straight to the high-end hotel where Raymond had holed up after walking out of prison.

The moment he stepped into the lobby, two of Raymond’s men appeared, their presence impossible to ignore. They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to. They escorted him to the elevator, going to Raymond’s suite.

The suite was drenched in muted daylight, the city sprawling beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Raymond stood in front of the glass like a shadow carved from sunlight, a whiskey glass dangling from his fingers, in the middle of the day.

Oliver cleared his throat, his voice breaking the taut silence. "You wanted to see me?"

Raymond turned slowly, his gaze fixed on Oliver with an intensity that bordered on obsession. "How much, Ollie?"

Oliver’s brows knit together. "What exactly are you asking, Raymond?"

"Your price," Raymond said, deliberate, his voice like a loaded gun waiting for the trigger.

Oliver straightened. "Raymond, hiring me as your lawyer isn’t—"

"Argh!"

The raw, guttural cry tore through the air.

*SLAM!*

The whiskey glass exploded against the wall, amber splattering like a wound spilling open. The sharp scent of alcohol flooded the room. Raymond staggered, then dropped to his knees, his breath shuddering as he collapsed forward... and began to sob.

"I’ll pay you anything—just retract the damn restraining order!" Raymond’s voice cracked under the weight of desperation, his hands trembling as if the very idea of losing her was tearing him apart. "I just need to see Georgia... to tell her I’m sorry. I can’t... I can’t live without her."

Oliver exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. Memories flickered—school corridors, crisp uniforms, and the distant but undeniable presence of Raymond Davis. He had known him through the Knight brothers; not friends, not enemies—just an acquaintance orbiting the same world.

Raymond had been born into the kind of wealth that made him magnetic to everyone else. The son of a billionaire cruise magnate, he was the golden boy every September, returning from summers spent on exotic seas with stories of champagne parties and foreign shores. People listened. Oliver didn’t.

He’d never envied Raymond’s money, but he’d never felt comfortable in his presence either. Their worlds didn’t mesh—Oliver was the scholarship kid, the one who had fought tooth and nail to earn every inch of ground. Raymond had floated through life on waves of privilege, always with Reagan Knight close by.

"Raymond... you know I can’t do that," Oliver said, his voice firm, but painted with the unspoken weight of loyalty.

Something in Raymond snapped. He lurched forward—not walking, but crawling, his tailored suit wrinkling under the movement. The sight was almost feral. Oliver instinctively stepped back.

"Please, Ollie," Raymond begged, his voice breaking as his hands clutched at Oliver’s trousers. "Leave Nick. Be my lawyer. I’ll make you richer than you’ve ever dreamed. Your own firm. The best associates. Just... give me Georgia back."

His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, raw and poisonous. "That bitch set me up. You know Nancy. You know what she’s capable of. She’s always hated me—and envied what Georgia and I had. That night... she took advantage. She lied. She ruined me."

Raymond’s body shook as he collapsed fully, wrapping his arms around Oliver’s legs like a drowning man clinging to driftwood. His forehead pressed into Oliver’s thigh, his voice muffled but burning with obsession.

"Please... give me back my Georgia..."

"Raymond, you’re drunk," Oliver said, his tone clipped, though his eyes narrowed at the raw desperation in the man before him. The sharp scent of whiskey clung to the air between them, thick and stifling. "You need to rest—clear your head before you say something you can’t take back."

But Raymond’s gaze was wild, fevered. His words came out in a broken snarl, each syllable dripping with rage and grief. "Ollie, I will not let that murderer take Georgia, too! He already took David—my best friend—from me. And I swear, over my dead body, he is not taking my Georgia!"

Oliver’s jaw flexed. He drew in a slow breath, but it did little to steady the sudden heaviness in his chest. He shouldn’t have come here. He knew it from the moment he stepped into the suite and saw the whiskey glass in Raymond’s hand. He’d hoped there might be something useful in what Raymond wanted to say—some thread worth following.

But deep down, he’d already known the truth.

This was no meeting of strategy.

This was the unraveling of a man consumed by obsession, and he had just walked into the center of it.

"Raymond, you know exactly what you’ve done," Oliver said, voice low but edged like a blade. "I think I should go. Rest, clear your head, and tomorrow... talk to Warren. He’s a good lawyer. If you have anything to say about Nick or Georgia, send it through him." He took a deliberate step back.

But Raymond wasn’t finished. "How much do you need? Name your price and I’ll meet it."

"I don’t need your money. I have—"

"Don’t lie, Ollie," Raymond cut in, swiping at the tears streaking his face. His voice softened into something far more dangerous. "I know you need money. Word is, you’ve got dependents... people you’re quietly keeping afloat."

Oliver’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like where this was headed. "I’m not jobless, and I’m more than capable of taking care of my siblings. We’re not lacking anything."

Raymond’s smirk was a venomous thing. "I’m not talking about your siblings. I’m talking about the ones who don’t live at home. The ones locked away, far from here. I’m sure you wouldn’t want Nick or Vicky to find out... right?"

"You—" Oliver’s control snapped. He grabbed Raymond by the collar, dragging him closer.

Raymond only lifted his hands in mock surrender, his smirk never faltering. "Whoa, easy, Attorney. You wouldn’t want to lose that precious license, would you? Think about it. You know where to find me when you’re ready. Don’t take too long. You’ve got three months... until Vicky’s birthday. Choose wisely, unless you’d like me to send her a gift she’ll never forget."

Oliver’s grip tightened before he forced himself to let go, every muscle rigid with fury.

"Guards!" Raymond called lazily. "Please escort Attorney Morris to his car. He’s ready to leave."

Oliver scoffed but turned on his heel, the pounding in his chest almost deafening. His mind was a storm, every thought spinning like shrapnel.

He’d walked into Raymond’s suite thinking this was to protect Nick or just a drunk man’s plea, only to leave with the taste of blackmail on his tongue and the clock already ticking.