'I Do' For Revenge
Chapter 195: Make A Deal
CHAPTER 195: MAKE A DEAL
LAYLA’S POV
O’BRIEN TOWER, 8:00 PM
The boardroom felt like a ghost of what it used to be. The windows were boa rded up with plywood, and yellow caution tape hung loosely around the edges.
Dim light from the city seeped in through the cra cks, barely illuminat ing the long mahogany table, which was cove red in a thin layer of dust from the explosion .
The lingering smell of smoke filled the air, creating a heavy atmosphere, which was a perfect backdrop for what I was about to d o.
Perfect.
Tye an d his team were hidde n in the shadows: two in t he adjoining conference r oom and one in the executive hallway, all ar med and listening through comms.
But I stood alone at the head of the table, wearing a simple black dress that lo oked appropriate for mourning . My hair was pulled back, and I had no makeup except smudge d mascara that made me look like I’d been crying for hours.
The elevator dinged, and footsteps approached; then the door opened.
Henry Porter walked in, dressed in a suit; his ha ir was perfectly styled, and he carried a leather briefcase that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent.
"Layla," Henry said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "I came as soon as I got your call. How is Axel?"
"Stable," I said quietly , wr inging my hand s. "The do ctors say it’l l be months before he can wal k again. Maybe longer."
"I’m so sorry," Henry said, setting his briefcase on the table. "This has been a tragedy for all of us. But you did t he right thing, callin g me. You shouldn’ t have to shoulder this burden alone."
"I can’t do this, Henry," I said, my voice breaking perfectly on cue. "I thought I could. I thought I w as strong enou gh. But the Cartel... they’re threat ening to blow up anoth er b uilding. They want ninety million dollars, and I don’t know where to find it. I do n’t know what to do."
H enry’s eyes gle amed. He pulled out a stack of papers from his briefcase.
"That’ s why I’m here," he said gently, sliding the documents across the table toward me. "These are temporary transfer papers. Th ey’ll give me emergency CEO powers until Axel recovers. I’ll handle the Board... everything. You just focus on your husba nd."
"You can really fix this?" I asked, staring at t he papers.
"Of cou rse," Henry said smoothly. "I’ve dealt with roug h elements before. The Cartel is just anoth er business negotiation. They want money? I’ll find a way to respond . They want blood? I’ll give them someone to blame. This is a man’s job, Layla. No offence, but dealing wit h people like this requires a c ertain... tou ch."
I picked up the pen with shaking fingers.
"You’ll take care of the company?" I whi spered.
"I’ll take good care of it," Henry promised. " I’ll protec t everyt hing Axel built. You have my word."
I bent over the papers, the pen h overing o ver the signature line.
Then I heard the elevator again, followed by multi ple sets of footsteps.
Henry frowned, turning toward the door. "Who else did you..."
The boardroom doo r opened.
Marco Sinaloa walked in, flanke d by a single silent guard who looked like he cou ld break a man in half with his bare hands. Marco had a busine sslike exp ression and was dressed in a fitte d suit.
"Good evening, Mrs. O ’Brien," M arco greeted with his smooth ac cent . "Y ou said you had something for me."
Henry’s face went white . "What the hell is he doing here?"
I straightened up, setting the pen down carefully. The tr embling in my hands stopped . The tears dried. The broken widow vanished.
"Hello, Marco," I said, my voice cutting through the room like a bl ade. "Thank you for coming. I belie ve you t wo already know each other... or at least should."
"What is this?" Henry demanded, looking between us. "Layla, what are you do ing?"
"I’m introducing you to your business partner," I said s weetly. "Marc o, m eet Henry Porter, our strategic partner and consultant. Henry, this is Marco Sinaloa. But I think you already know that, don’t you?"
Marco’s eyes narrowed, studying Henry with predatory interest.
I walked to t he head of the table and pressed a button. The pro jector hummed to life, casting light acros s the boarded-up wall.
"Let me show you something interesti ng," I said.
The firs t slide app ear ed: a tra nsaction log.
"This is ninety million dollars," I said, using a laser poin ter. "It left Sinal oa Imports six months a go. Marco, you remember this transaction, don’t you? You w ere trying to do your business as usual, washing funds to avoid suspicions."
Marco said nothing, but his jaw tigh tene d.
"The money was supp o sed to be cl eaned and re turned to your ac counts," I continued. "But something strange h appened. It never came b ack."
The next slide: a web of s hell companies.
"Instead, it went here. An d here. An d here," I said, tracking the laser pointer acr oss the screen. "Throug h six diffe rent shell companies, all registered to offshore accounts. And where did it finally land?"
The final slide: bank statements with Hen ry’s name.
"Henry Po rter’s p rivate accounts," I said. "Not O’Brien accounts, not Eclipse Beauty, not my account or Axel’s, but his," I said, pointing to Henr y. "His personal holdings."
The room went silent.
Marco turned to look at Henry, and the temperature dropped twenty degrees.
"You stole from me," Marco said quietly.
"No! No, that’s... that’s a cler ical error!" Henry s tammered, backing away from the table.
"The documents are all here," I said, h olding up the hard drive. "Bank transfers. Shell company registrations. Offshore account num be rs. Everything. You stole ninety million dollars from the Sinaloa Cartel and tried to frame me and my husb and for it."
"You c an’ t pr ove..."
"I just did," I said c oldly.
Marco stood up slowly, his hand moving to his jacket.
"Wait!" Hen ry shouted, stumbling backwards. "I can pay you back! I stil l have most of it! Seventy million! I can wire it tonight!"
"Seventy?" Marco asked softly. "What happen ed to the other twenty?"
Henry opened his mouth, then closed it.
"You spent twenty million o f my money?" Marco asked with a deadly calm .
"Marco, please. Let’s talk about this. We can m ake a deal..."
"I don’t make deals with thieves," Marco said, pulling out his phone. He spoke rapidly in Spanish to someone o n the other end, never taking his eyes off Henry.
"I can tell you who h as the rest o f the money."
That got Marco’s attention. "Who?" he asked.
"Charles. Charles Watson."