Chapter 784:
“…and crush you underfoot.” Paola tipped her glass and swallowed hard, her eyes misty. “Go and bring Mr. Buckley here. I need to apologize.”
Unable to resist her plea, Mylo sent someone to fetch him. The server returned, looking uneasy. “Mr. Buckley said he isn’t feeling well and doesn’t wish to sit here. He’s enjoying Miss Owen’s company and asked not to be disturbed.”
Lenny had only been invited along to give Mylo an excuse to ask Paola out, nothing more than a convenient piece in the plan. But Paola refused to accept this outcome. The thought of Lenny being thoroughly swayed by Rylie twisted her with jealousy. She abruptly clutched Mylo’s hand, her grip firm. “Can you help me?”
The sudden intimacy made Mylo stiffen. “H-how do you want me to help?”
“Teach Rylie a lesson. A good beating will do. After that, we go out together, alright?”
Sensing the hesitation in his expression, Paola framed his face with her hands and pressed her lips to his without warning.
Meanwhile, Rylie stepped into a private room, only to find Brad seated there instead of Brock.
Her eyes lingered on him briefly. “I’ve told him not to let anyone else know about this.”
Brad lounged back on the sofa with his legs crossed, his posture unhurried. “Brock tried, but his connections couldn’t slip past the investigation bureau to get the photos.”
Rylie settled beside him. “And did you manage it?”
“The government locked Everswell’s files under layer after layer of protection,” Brad replied, pouring her a glass of red wine. “They guard their records fiercely; I had to hire a hack to do it for me.”
Rylie accepted the glass, a faint smile on her lips. “You just infiltrated the government’s system; that must be a serious crime.”
g Ɐ ln σ ν𝒆 𝓁s․com, your fiction escape
“That boundary was crossed long ago,” Brad answered, raising his glass toward hers. The calmness in his manner softened the edge of his military bearing, leaving him looking almost like a refined gentleman.
After taking a sip, he passed her an envelope. “The surveillance and audio in this room have already been disabled.”
Rylie placed her glass aside and carefully opened the envelope, examining the materials within.
“These are duplicates,” Brad noted. “I have already reviewed the originals.”
Rylie’s attention fixed first on the outer fractures along the ship’s hull, damage consistent with submarine torpedoes.
When her eyes shifted to the interior cabin photographs, her gaze sharpened, and she tapped her finger lightly against one image.
She pulled several photos free and arranged them across the table. “Something here doesn’t add up.”
Brad bent forward to inspect them. The images displayed the engine room and the quarters at the ship’s lower level, with pipes and machinery left charred, warped, and tangled together.
“An external assault should have left tearing directed inward,” he remarked quickly, indicating the inconsistency.
Rylie’s eyes lingered on the photographs as her fingers slid over the glossy prints. “See the distortion along the hull? The steel plates bend outward, and the pipes here are peeled back instead of crushed in. That kind of force can only come from within. What conclusion do you draw from that?”
.
.
.