Chapter 832

Watching Gwyneth casually slip the five-million-dollar check into her purse, PPatti felt like she was going to explode with rage.

After securing her money, Gwyneth looked at Patti with a slight smile. "So, Miss Yale, if you have anything else to say, now's the time. After I finish this water, I'm leaving." She hadn't touched the coffee Patti had ordered for her; pregnant women don't drink that stuff.

"Gwyneth, don't push your luck. I'm not asking for much."

She was here for a payday, not to give money back.

"Taking a single penny from me is still extortion," Gwyneth said. "I know you're not asking for the world, but you're not worth it. If you were, the check you pulled out of your own pocket would be for more than five million. Hawthorne is a businessman, and a businessman's greatest skill is calculation."

Gwyneth slowly stood up. "Miss Yale, I believe our conversation is over." She took a few steps, then turned back and placed a folded paper on the table. "By the way, you wrote this, didn't you? Take a good look. If there's nothing else, I'll be going. I also have a recording pen. You wouldn't want anyone to know what you said on it.

"Furthermore, the money Hawthorne gave you was a commission, not a settlement. He's already told me everything about your role in this. Miss Yale, trying to deceive the wife with forged evidence and flimsy lies is never a good idea."

Patti stared at Gwyneth's burgeoning belly, the flames of fury leaping in her eyes.

Just as Gwyneth reached the restaurant's entrance, several men in black suits rushed forward. One of them pressed a handkerchief over her nose, and they dragged her into the back of a van.

The black van drove to an inconspicuous corner, where the driver called Patti Yale. "Miss Yale, we have her."

"Good. Wait there for me." She leisurely stood up, paid the bill, and walked out of the restaurant with an elegant stride. Gwyneth was far too naive to compete with her. Now that everyone was abandoning her, she had nothing left to lose.

Climbing into the van, she found Gwyneth unconscious in the back seat. Patti grabbed Gwyneth's purse and frantically searched it, but she couldn't find the recording pen that had been taken from her before. It contained her full confession about colluding with Hawthome to frame" James. If James ever got his hands on it, she would be in real trouble.

She tore the bag apart, checking every pocket and hidden compartment, but it was empty. Nothing.

"Where did she put it?" A thin layer of sweat broke out on Patti's forehead.

f

But there was no time to worry about that now. She had to take Gwyneth to her own place first. As

they drove, she sent a message to Hawthorne, attaching a photo of Gwyneth's unconscious face. "Hawthorne, one hundred million.

Not a penny less."

She had lost everything-her reputation, her dignity, her future. She was ready to risk it all. If she was going down, she was taking someone with her.

Meanwhile, James Mercer and his wife were at a company celebration. James was dapper in a tailored suit, while Mrs. Mercer was squeezed into a custom-made gown, her fleshy midsection bulging awkwardly. The sight made James frown.

On the main stage, James reluctantly held Mrs. Mercer's hand. Seeing his father-in- law in the audience, his smile widened. "Our company's ability to secure such a massive contract today is thanks to everyone's hard work. But most of all, I want to thank the lady of the house, my wonderful wife."

As James finished speaking, the conference hall doors opened, and an attendant wheeled in a cart with 999 fiery red roses. James plucked one from the bouquet, knelt before Mrs. Mercer, and, like a magician, produced a large velvet box from his pocket.

Mrs. Mercer's eyes widened in surprise. "Sallie, for all these years, you have been my silent supporter, my driving force. My success is impossible without you. Yesterday, I spent three hundred million at auction to buy this South African pink diamond for you. Sallie, will you marry me again?"

James's proposal caught everyone off guard. He was nearly fifty, with a

bald patch and a potbelly that dwarfed his wife's. Yet, he delivered the cheesy lines on one knee

without a hint of shame making the younger employees in the room cringe so hard their hair stood on end. But this greasy, cliché performance worked. Mrs. Mercer's eyes instantly filled with tears.

Who said that when you help a man reach the pinnacle of success, he's bound to cast you aside? On the contrary, her investment in her husband had yielded a return beyond her wildest dreams.