Sweet Flash Marriage with the Restrained Tycoon (Isabelle and Damien) novel Chapter 906

Chapter 906 Harold Takes Charge 

Harold hated malls, but even there, he was a familiar face. 

“What’s this supposed to be?” 

“Why is he here?” 

“Harvey is in the hospital. Damian was supposed to be back today.” 

Hearing the murmurs ripple through the room, Harold slowly scanned the nameplates on the shareholders’ desks. 

“It’s me.” George finally couldn’t take the pressure. He straightened his collar and stepped forward. 

Harold looked him over, closed the distance, and drove a solid kick straight into George’s chest. 2 

George staggered backward, crashed through the glass conference room door, and went down in a shower of breaking glass. 

“Ah-!” he howled, sprawled on the floor. 

Nearby shareholders flinched and scrambled away from the debris. 

“Harold! You’ve gone too far!” George braced himself, struggling to stand amid the shards. 

Harold grabbed a folder from Roger and threw it squarely at him. “Save it for the cops!” 

Catching the sharp look in Harold’s eyes, George scrambled for the papers-only to be hauled out by two officers waiting at the door, still shouting protests on his way out. 

Then Harold turned toward the entrance. 

“Sorry for the interruption, folks,” he said with a thin smile. “Just here to pick someone up.” 

A collective sigh of relief passed through the room. 

“This isn’t even your jurisdiction, is it? Aren’t you worried about getting written up?” A voice called from the crowd. 

Harold took another file from Roger. 

“That’s my resignation. Got married recently–taking a month of honeymoon leave, and I quit. They waived the notice period, approved it on the spot.” 

He’d handed in his papers at the station just yesterday. Today, he was here to finish what Harvey hadn’t been able to. 

Late last night, he’d gone through Harvey’s computer files. The trail was incomplete, so he’d had his people dig deeper overnight 

His gaze swept the room again. 

Whispers rose and fell among the shareholders. 

“Which one of you is Simon Gellar?” Harold’s eyes moved over them like a judge surveying a courtroom, 

“That’s me! And don’t bother throwing me out-I’m leaving!” Simon ripped off his badge and slammed it on the table. 

Harold reached up, loosened his tie, took two steps-forward, planted a hand on the table, and leaned in until he was right in Simon’s face–then, in one swift motion, grabbed him by the throat. 

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