"Understood, Mr. Flynn," Nathan replied.
Yardley stood in the stairwell at the end of the corridor, silently smoking a cigarette, his expression shadowed and illegible.
Two cigarettes later, Nathan returned.
"Mr. Flynn, I've had our team look into it. They really do appear to be sudden, unfortunate accidents. Furthermore, none of them occurred in the same location or context. Based on the evidence available, there is absolutely no way to prove that anyone orchestrated this behind the scenes."
Hearing this, Yardley aggressively rubbed his temples and shot Nathan an icy glare.
"You couldn't find a single trace of evidence?"
"Let me be specific: investigate Scarlett, or her best friend, Talia."
Nathan wiped another bead of cold sweat. "I did look in that direction, sir, but there's nothing tying them to the incidents."
"I also contacted the police. The authorities confirmed that everything has to be legally classified as an accident. Even the incident with the facial rash at the spa—they verified that the spa's products were fine. Ms. Stetson had accidentally applied an outside irritant herself."
Yardley didn't believe a word of it, but his hands were tied.
Thinking of how pathetic and mangled Sylvia looked, his temples throbbed violently with fresh rage.
Driven by anger, he grabbed Nathan's phone and dialed Scarlett's number.
It rang a few times before her familiar voice came through the speaker.
"Hello?"
Yardley didn't waste time. "Are you behind the endless series of pranks targeting Sylvia Stetson?"
Scarlett paused for two seconds, her tone utterly dismissive. "What does that have to do with me?"
"I might not have proof, but I'm not an idiot," Yardley spat, his dark tone laced with fury. "Scarlett, pranks have a limit. She's in terrible shape right now, I need you to—"
He didn't get to finish. His accusation instantly ignited Scarlett's temper.

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