Chapter 49
The room fell silent as two distinct male voices suddenly echoed through the speakers.
“Mr. Delacroix, I wouldn’t have swapped those high-end mattresses for cheap second-hand ones if it wasn’t to help you profit! But that new CEO of Whitmore Holdings caught me red-handed, and now I’ve lost everything. No one in Faircrest will hire me! You can’t just abandon me now!”
“Don’t pretend you were doing me a favor. You pocketed a fortune yourself. Between that and what I paid you, you could retire comfortably without ever working another day.”
One voice belonged to Gregory Holloway—the other, unmistakably, to Damien Delacroix.
The reporters gasped.
Damien’s face drained of color. He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white. “What the hell is this?! Who played that? Turn it off—now!”
The audio cut off abruptly, but the screen flickered to life again, this time displaying photos—Damien and Gregory at an upscale nightclub, clinking glasses.
“Mr. Delacroix! You promised me protection!”
“And I delivered. I didn’t expose you when this scandal broke. Just disappear, keep your mouth shut, and you’ll be fine. But if you breathe a word, I’ll ruin you.”
The evidence was damning.
Damien’s face twisted in fury, his cheeks burning crimson. “These are fakes! All of it! That’s not my voice—someone’s framing me!”
Then—BANG!
The conference hall doors burst open.
Two rows of stern-faced officers in sharp suits marched in, their badges glinting under the lights.
And leading them—Sebastian Whitmore.
The crowd fell silent as he strode forward, his presence commanding every eye in the room.
“Damien Delacroix, CEO of Delacroix Group,” he announced, his voice cold and authoritative. “You are under arrest for abuse of power, bribery, and conspiracy. Take him away.”
“This is absurd! I’m innocent!” Damien thrashed as the officers seized him, dragging him toward the exit. Cameras flashed, capturing his downfall in real time. The internet exploded.
“What a twist! This press conference just turned into a crime drama!”
“So Whitmore Holdings was the real victim? Damien was the one scamming everyone!”
“Disgusting. He deserves worse than jail.”
Maxwell Reeves clapped, grinning. “Well, that’s the end of the Delacroix Group.”
Zachary Blackwood’s expression darkened. “This was a setup.”
“What?”
“Whitmore Holdings anticipated Damien would blame Gregory. They planted that reporter to push him into confessing—then dropped this bomb when he did.”
Maxwell’s eyes widened. “You think that journalist worked for them?”
“Undoubtedly. And so did those officers.” Zachary’s gaze flicked back to the screen, where Sebastian stood, his sharp features unreadable.
The livestream comments went wild.
“That officer is everything. Hot and powerful? Sign me up.”
Zachary’s jaw tightened. He recognized that man—the same one who had been so close to Alyssa at the bar and the hospital. The man who looked exactly like Nathan Whitmore.
Who was he?
Zachary quickly took a screenshot and ran it through his private facial recognition software.
Ten minutes later, the results flashed on his screen.
Sebastian Whitmore. Chief Prosecutor of Faircrest.
