My Milf Conqueror System novel Chapter 144

Chapter 144: No Boost Active

[Jake’s POV]

The Bellamy townhouse sat behind a row of black iron gates in the kind of quiet Manhattan street where people paid obscene amounts of money to pretend the city did not exist. The building was narrow, old, and beautiful, with pale stone steps, dark green shutters, and two security cameras tucked discreetly beneath the entrance awning. It looked like a home built for charity dinners, family portraits, and secrets rich men thought would stay buried because the walls were expensive.

Marianne sat beside Claire in the back of the car, her hands folded tightly in her lap. She had not cried. She had not shouted. She had not even looked at Richard since we left the museum. That silence terrified him more than anything I could have said. Richard sat opposite her with Ethan beside him, his face pale, his tie loosened, and his eyes fixed on the floor like a man trying to disappear into the leather seats.

"Children first," Marianne said quietly.

Claire nodded without looking up from her tablet. "Already moving. Private extraction team is on the way to Harrington Prep. They will be taken to a secure property under Sterling control. No digital trail, no school announcement, no exposed route."

Marianne’s face tightened at the mention of her children, but she held herself together. "Will they be frightened?"

"Yes," Claire said honestly. "But they will be alive."

Marianne closed her eyes for one second, then opened them again. "Good."

Richard finally lifted his head. "Marianne, I didn’t know it would go this far."

She turned to him slowly. "You never know anything until someone else pays for it."

That shut him up.

Ethan looked at me like he was trying very hard not to enjoy the exchange. He still had one hand inside his jacket, his posture loose, but his eyes never left Richard. Somewhere between Europe and here, Ethan had learned how to look harmless while keeping a man trapped in a moving car. I would have been proud if the reason for that change did not sit so heavily in my chest.

The car stopped half a block from the townhouse. Claire checked the street camera feeds Nia had patched through, then gave a small nod. "No visible watchers. Front camera is live. Back alley has one maintenance van parked too long, but the plates belong to a plumbing company that actually exists."

Ethan frowned. "That sounds suspiciously normal."

"It’s New York," Claire said. "Even spies need plumbing."

A blue screen flickered in front of my eyes before I could open the door.

[Ding!]

[Side Mission Generated!]

Mission: Wine Cellar Etiquette

Objective: Retrieve incriminating documents without being shot, stabbed, or emotionally entangled in another marriage dispute.

Reward: Bellamy Thread Progress +15%

Penalty: Host will refer to one expensive wine incorrectly in public.]

I stared at the screen.

Another line appeared.

[Additional Warning: All Skills remain locked.]

Suggestion: Try using common sense.]

I got out of the car before the System could insult me again.

The cold air bit into my face as we crossed the sidewalk. Marianne walked beside Claire, chin lifted, every step controlled. Richard trailed behind with Ethan close enough to catch him if he ran and close enough to break something if he tried anything stupid. I climbed the stone steps first and looked at the front door camera. It looked ordinary. Too ordinary. I had learned to dislike ordinary things in houses full of money.

Marianne opened the door with a small brass key.

The inside of the townhouse smelled like polished wood, old books, and expensive flowers beginning to die. A wide staircase curved up toward the second floor, and a crystal chandelier glowed softly above the entry hall. Family photographs lined the wall. Marianne in a summer dress. Richard in a navy blazer. Two children smiling beside a lake. Everyone looked happy in the way framed photographs always insisted people were.

Marianne stopped in front of one of the pictures.

For the first time, her face cracked.

Only a little.

Then she walked past it.

"The wine cellar is downstairs," she said.

Richard swallowed. "Marianne, please."

She did not turn around. "You are done speaking unless Mr. Hart asks you a question."

Ethan looked at Richard. "I like this arrangement."

We followed her through a long hallway, past a formal dining room and a sitting room that looked like no one had ever sat in it without permission. Claire stayed close to Marianne, but her eyes moved constantly, scanning corners, doorways, windows, reflections in glass cabinets. She had become very good at surviving rooms that pretended to be safe.

The basement door was behind the kitchen, hidden beside a pantry lined with imported tea and absurdly expensive olive oil. Marianne unlocked it with a code, then led us down a narrow staircase into cool darkness. The air changed as we descended. It became damp and still, carrying the rich smell of oak barrels, old stone, and wine that probably cost more than my first apartment.

The cellar lights clicked on one row at a time.

Hundreds of bottles lined the walls behind dark wood racks. French labels. Italian labels. Some dusted with age, others so polished they looked staged for visitors. In the center of the room stood a tasting table with six leather stools and a small bronze lamp.

Richard looked like he wanted to be sick.

"Where?" I asked.

Marianne walked to the far wall and stopped in front of a rack filled with Bordeaux. She reached for a bottle near the bottom, twisted it once, and the entire rack clicked softly. Ethan raised his eyebrows.

"A wine rack secret door," he said. "Of course."

Marianne glanced back at him. "Richard enjoys being predictable in expensive ways."

The rack swung open, revealing a narrow metal safe built into the wall.

Richard whispered, "Marianne."

She ignored him and entered the code.

The safe opened.

Inside were three leather folders, a small hard drive, two sealed envelopes, and a stack of printed statements bound with a silver clip. Marianne stepped aside and looked at me.

"I found this six nights ago," she said. "I did not understand all of it, but I understood enough to know Richard was afraid of something bigger than an affair."

Richard’s face twisted. "I was trying to protect us."

"No," Marianne said. "You were trying to protect yourself from the consequences of protecting us badly."

Claire took the folders and began photographing the contents with her tablet. "These are trust statements. Offshore holdings. Audit recommendations. Payment schedules."

Ethan leaned over carefully. "Is that our fake audit firm?"

Claire nodded. "Same one Victoria flagged."

I opened one of the envelopes.

Inside was a printed itinerary for a private dinner at a place called The Halcyon Room. No logos. No formal names. Just a date, initials, and a handwritten note at the bottom.

M will confirm final pressure before vote.

M.

Margot.

"There she is," I murmured.

Claire took the note from me, scanned it, then looked at Richard. "Who is Margot?"

Richard shook his head quickly. "I told you. I don’t know."

Ethan stepped closer. "You’re lying badly."

"I’m not lying."

Marianne looked at him.

Richard broke almost immediately.

"She never gave her full name," he said. "I swear. She contacted me through a private line. Swiss number. French accent. She knew things about my father’s accounts. Things no one outside the family should have known."

"Where did you meet her?" I asked.

He hesitated.

Marianne’s eyes hardened.

Richard lowered his head. "Twice. Once at the Halcyon Room. Once at a private lounge near the East River."

"Description."

"Late forties. Maybe early fifties. Dark blonde hair. Elegant. Calm. She wore gloves both times."

"Gloves?" Claire asked.

"She said she disliked touching public surfaces."

Ethan looked at me. "That is either rich person behavior or serial killer behavior."

"Often the same thing," I said.

The System chimed.

[Ding!]

[Intelligence Fragment Updated!]

Margot: Female, Swiss-French accent, dark blonde hair, gloves, intermediary for Isabella-linked pressure route.]

Bellamy Thread Progress: 42%]

System Comment: Target husband remains disappointing.]

Richard looked at me. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You looked at me like you heard something."

"I did. It was the sound of poor decision making."

Ethan snorted.

Marianne did not smile.

Claire removed the hard drive from the safe and handed it to me. "Nia needs this. If Margot used the same channel for other board members, there may be patterns in the metadata."

"Can she crack it?"

Claire gave me a flat look.

"Right," I said. "Stupid question."

From upstairs, something thudded.

Everyone went still.

Ethan’s hand moved to his gun.

Claire’s eyes snapped toward the ceiling.

Marianne’s face went pale.

Richard whispered, "No."

Another sound followed. Softer. A footstep.

Someone was inside the house.

I looked at Claire.

She had already muted her tablet and pulled up the security feed. Her face tightened. "Front door camera is looping. It has been looping for three minutes."

"Back entrance?"

"Offline."

Ethan drew his Glock with a quiet, practiced motion. "How many?"

Claire tapped quickly. "Unknown. Internal cameras were disabled from inside the network."

Richard staggered back against the wine rack. "She said she would know."

Marianne turned to him slowly. "She said what?"

He was sweating now. "She said if I opened the safe, she would know."

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then the System appeared.

[Ding!]

[Side Mission Updated!]

Objective: Escape Bellamy residence with documents and target alive.]

Reward: Bellamy Thread Progress +25%]

Penalty: Host will mispronounce ’charcuterie’ at next social event.]

I stared at the screen.

"Focus," Claire whispered, noticing my expression.

"I am focused."

"You are making the face again."

"I am having a private crisis."

"Have it quietly."

Ethan moved toward the stairs. "Darius is four minutes out."

"Too long," I said.

A shadow moved beneath the basement door at the top of the stairs.

The handle turned slowly.

I grabbed Marianne and pulled her behind the tasting table. Claire pushed Richard down beside her, harder than necessary. Ethan took position near the bottom of the stairs, gun raised but angled away from the door until he had a clear shot.

The basement door opened.

A man stepped onto the first stair.

He wore a dark coat, black gloves, and a museum security badge clipped to his lapel. Fake. The badge sat too high, and his shoes were too soft for a man who supposedly spent hours standing on marble floors. He held a suppressed pistol low against his thigh.

He saw Ethan.

Ethan fired first.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify