Bella sat in her office, thinking hard. Suddenly, the memory clicked. She finally remembered why the name "Tristan Winthrop" sounded so familiar.
A triumphant smirk spread across her face.
"So it's him."
She grabbed her phone from the desk and headed straight for Brandon's office.
The assistant told her Brandon hadn't arrived yet. It dawned on her that it was still early; the Mercer men were probably still enduring their daily apology rituals at Halfridge Villas.
It didn't matter. She made herself comfortable in Brandon's office and sent a text to Lucas.
[Why have you been radio silent all day? Don't tell me you actually got sick after checking into the hospital?]
Lucas wasn't sick. He was just incredibly busy.
While he was still holed up in the VIP suite Bella had arranged for him, his secret alliance with Debbie was his top priority. A $400 million Lucas-Debbie bribe was on the line, demanding his absolute focus.
He was currently running around behind Bella's back, finding ways to forge a new ID and open fresh bank accounts for Debbie. He had spent all of yesterday consulting underground contacts, ensuring everything remained completely off the radar.
She had to ensure her strike was perfectly timed and foolproof. That was exactly why she had paid to embed Lucas in the VIP wing in the first place.
Despite the silence, Bella kept her cool. Ever since that horrific night in the car, Lucas seemed to be suffering from severe PTSD. He reportedly needed heavy sleeping pills just to close his eyes.
It made sense—anyone who had a severed hand thrown at their windshield would be traumatized. Even Bella had suffered from nightmares for days after orchestrating the attack. She couldn't blame him for needing rest.
Eventually, Brandon marched into the office. Seeing Bella sitting at his desk immediately ruined his mood.
"You knew I was busy this morning. Couldn't you do your own work instead of loitering in my office?" he snapped.

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