The Divorced Heiress Revenge (Bella Thompson) novel Chapter 1995

At Pivotage, Christopher was furious upon learning that Ian had been released without any charges. In his rage, he shattered several antique crystal glasses on the floor.

“Mr. Iverson, please calm down.”

On the call, Owen Hopkins spoke cautiously and politely. “This plan was supposed to be flawless. Justin’s secretary was certainly going to be taken care of. But who could have predicted that the scumbag from the Southern Star Syndicate would change his story at the last second, taking all the blame on himself? With such an unexpected turn of events, I have no way to detain Justin’s secretary.”

“Did the Southern Star Syndicate force him to change his testimony?” Christopher’s eyes burned with anger as he slowly bent down and picked up a shard of the shattered crystal glasses. He gripped it tightly, his fingers curling around it. Crimson blood oozed through his fingers, staining his pale hand a deep red.

His face remained expressionless, and he didn’t feel the pain. Instead, it relieved some of the suffocation in his chest.

“Watson is old and has accumulated many injuries from a lifetime of fighting. He has long since retired from active duty. Now, Southern Star Syndicate is managed by Elias.”

Owen’s voice took on a sinister tone. “Elias has close ties with Madam Sasha, Wyatt Thompson’s fourth wife. If Ms. Thompson asks Madam Sasha to intervene, Elias has no reason to refuse.”

“Aaron's promotion of the new drug has gone very well, except in the Southern Star Syndicate, where it keeps running into problems.

Christopher opened his palm, looking at the bloody mess with a cruel smile on his lips. “Figure out how to deal with Elias. Don’t let him mess up my plans again.”

Owen asked, “Do you want him dead?”

“Killing him would cause too much trouble by targeting the core of the Southern Star Syndicate. Just find a way to remove him from running the syndicate. That’ll be enough.”

Christopher tossed the glass shard aside and headed to the window.

When he glanced at the Damascus roses he had carefully tended, his previously sinister and cold expression softened, as if he were gazing upon a lover. His bloodied fingers gently caressed the crimson petals.