The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 681

“We demand an explanation!”

The roar of the crowd was loud enough to shake the building. Someone slammed their fists against the glass doors, the heavy thuds making the security guards inside turn pale. The young woman at the front desk had never seen anything like it. The sheer force of the dark, roiling mob was terrifying. She fumbled for the phone, her fingers trembling as she dialed the executive secretary’s office. The familiar ringing tone, usually so brief, stretched into an agonizingly long ordeal. She clutched the receiver so tightly her knuckles turned white, her eyes wide with fear as she stared through the glass at the growing crowd outside. Angry construction workers waved banners, their fists pounding on the glass in a dull, menacing rhythm.

“Bang!”

With another loud crack, a spiderweb of fractures spread across the glass door. Chloe’s hand shook so violently she could barely hold the phone.

“D-Dora?” she stammered, her voice thick with tears. “There’s trouble downstairs! So many people… they’re blocking the entrance, and… and they’re demanding to see the chairman!”

…

Upstairs, in the executive suite, Dora Lawson had just picked up her coffee, hoping to steal a quiet moment while Hackett Sloan was in his meeting. But before the cup even reached her lips, the phone began to ring with frantic urgency.

Frowning, she answered, and the receptionist’s panicked voice spilled out of the receiver. “Dora! You have to come down here! We… we can’t hold them back much longer!”

The receptionist’s voice was trembling, a mix of panic and fear she couldn’t hide.

Dora set her coffee down, her brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”

“A group of construction workers just showed up out of nowhere. They say they’re here to demand unpaid wages. They’re getting really agitated, and security is about to be overwhelmed!” the receptionist cried. “You need to come see for yourself.”

Dora froze. The scene was far more chaotic than she had imagined. In the lobby, a dozen security guards were straining to hold the glass doors shut against a sea of furious faces pressed against the glass, their features twisted in anger. Banners were held high, the large, blood-red characters searing the eyes.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted at the back of the crowd. “Make way! Let us through!”

A few people in gray work coats pushed a wheelchair to the front. A pale-faced young man sat in it, both of his legs encased in casts.

“Look at this!” the man pushing the wheelchair shouted. “This is my brother! His legs were broken on a Sloan Group construction site because of their negligence! Not only did the Sloan Group refuse to pay compensation, but they also withheld his wages! We can’t even afford the hospital bills!”

With that, he yanked the blanket off the injured man’s legs, revealing blood-soaked bandages and a right leg twisted at a horrifyingly unnatural angle.