The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 154

Orion

I adjusted my tie in the rearview mirror, checking my reflection one final time. The charcoal Armani suit was perfectly tailored, projecting exactly the kind of power and authority I needed for today's performance. My expression was cool, calculating—the face of a man who didn't make emotional decisions in business.

*Perfect.*

"Marcus," I said into my phone as I pulled away from my building, "status report."

"All set, boss," came my assistant's crisp voice through the Bluetooth. "Every potential buyer who was scheduled to meet with Hartwell Industries today has received a comprehensive legal brief detailing the company's... shall we say, questionable business practices. I've made sure not a single legitimate investor will touch that company with a ten-foot pole."

I smiled grimly. "Excellent. Make sure it stays that way."

The drive to Hartwell Industries took me through some of the older commercial districts of the city, where buildings wore their age like badges of honor—or shame, depending on your perspective. When I finally pulled up to the company's headquarters, I had to suppress a laugh.

The building looked like it hadn't been updated since the 1980s. Faded brick, outdated signage, windows that probably leaked in the rain. Even the company logo looked tired and gray, like it had given up trying to impress anyone.

*This is what happens when incompetent people inherit something valuable.*

As I approached the entrance, I could hear raised voices echoing from inside. Through the glass doors, I watched a parade of men in expensive suits marching out, each one clutching manila folders and looking thoroughly disgusted.

"This is a complete waste of my time!" one was shouting. "A company with this many legal liabilities? Are you insane?"

"The stock transfers alone are enough to trigger a federal investigation!" another added. "Richard, you've got so many legal holes in your operations, we wouldn't touch this deal if you paid us!"

A sweaty, overweight man in an ill-fitting suit was chasing after them, his face red with desperation. This had to be Richard Hartwell—Aveline's stepfather, the man who'd sold her like livestock six years ago.

"Wait, please! Don't listen to those reports!" Richard was practically begging. "Those documents are fake! Someone's trying to sabotage us!"

One of the departing investors turned around long enough to shove Richard away from him. "Fake? Richard, your company's books are a nightmare. Stock manipulation, accounting irregularities, transfer violations—this business is worthless garbage! You'll never find a buyer stupid enough to touch this mess!"

"Thank God that lawyer showed up with those disclosure reports," another man muttered as they headed for the parking garage. "Saved us all from making a catastrophic mistake."

Richard was screaming for security, demanding they find whoever had distributed the "false" documents, but his staff looked as defeated as he did.

I waited until the last of the potential buyers had driven away before making my entrance.

Richard was trudging back toward the building, his shoulders slumped in defeat, when he nearly walked straight into me.

"Excuse me," I said with a polite smile. "Richard Hartwell, I presume? I understand you're looking for investors?"

Richard looked up at me with the kind of desperate hope that made my skin crawl. "You heard all that chaos, didn't you? I don't suppose you're seriously interested in doing business with us?"

"Actually," I said, straightening my cufflinks with deliberate casualness, "while I can't purchase your company outright, I might be able to offer you a loan. Say, five million dollars, with your company as collateral."

Richard stared at me for a long moment, and I could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to place my face.

"Wait a minute," he said slowly. "You're... you're Orion Blackwell! The Blackwell Industries CEO!" His entire demeanor changed, becoming obsequious in a way that made my stomach turn. "I had no idea someone of your stature would be interested in our little operation!"

"My grandfather has always had a soft spot for established brands," I lied smoothly. "He asked me to see if we could help you get back on your feet. Shall we discuss terms inside?"

Richard was practically tripping over himself to usher me into his office, which was about as outdated and depressing as I'd expected. Faded furniture, ancient filing cabinets, the lingering smell of desperation and failed dreams.

I sat down across from his desk and pulled out a folder I'd prepared earlier, sliding it across to him with professional efficiency.

"Five million dollars," I said calmly. "Sign the contract, and the money is yours."

Richard's eyes lit up like Christmas morning. "Really? Just like that?" He opened the folder and started reading, but his expression quickly changed. "Wait... this interest rate... thirty-five percent?"

I leaned back in my chair, my expression unchanging. "My grandfather may be sympathetic to your situation, Mr. Hartwell, but we're not a charity. Business is business."

"But the repayment period..." Richard was scanning the document with growing alarm. "Sixty days? That's impossible!"

"Those are our terms," I said with a shrug. "Take it or leave it."

Richard looked like he was going to be sick. I could see him doing the math, realizing that this wasn't salvation—it was a trap designed to destroy him completely.

*Good. Let him sweat.*

As I watched him struggle with the decision, I thought about what this man had done six years ago. How he'd looked at an eighteen-year-old girl—his own stepdaughter—and seen nothing but a commodity to be sold to the highest bidder.

"You know," I said conversationally, "you don't strike me as someone who has trouble making difficult decisions. From what I've heard, you made some pretty ruthless choices six years ago."

Richard's face went pale, and I saw a bead of sweat roll down his temple. "I... I'm not sure what you're referring to. Six years ago was just... normal business operations."

"Was it?" I asked, letting a hint of steel creep into my voice. "Interesting definition of 'normal.'"

The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken threats and half-remembered guilt. I could see Richard's hands trembling slightly as he held the contract.

Finally, I stood up and buttoned my jacket. "I've given you three minutes to consider this offer, Mr. Hartwell. Either sign the papers, or I walk away and you can explain to your family why you turned down five million dollars."

Richard stared at the contract for another few seconds, then looked up at me with the expression of a man who knew he was about to sign his own death warrant.

"I'll sign," he said through gritted teeth. "I'll take the loan."

*Perfect.*