Chapter 1157

That old bastard!

He actually installed hidden cameras in his own study? This was a disaster.

If this played out, everyone would witness their calculated murder attempt. Unable to hold back, the son panicked and tugged at his father's sleeve. The patriarch's head pounded with a brutal migraine, but he was utterly trapped. It was over. They had lost.

He closed his eyes in defeat. Seeing his father give up, the son grew frantic.

On the screen, Nelson was just taking the phone from their hands, mere seconds away from collapsing.

He lunged toward the projector screen.

"Turn it off! Shut it down right now!"

When no one moved to obey, he threw himself in front of the lens, trying to block the projection with his body.

"My God, so that's how the chairman had his attack!"

"Look at him on the screen! The chairman is collapsing, and he is actually smiling! That is pure evil."

"They wanted him dead! They're pretending to look for his medicine just to waste time before calling the paramedics!"

"This is literally attempted murder. This family is full of psychos."

...

The room buzzed with venomous whispers.

The board members were even more outraged than when the police dragged Eartha away. Seeing such callous betrayal with their own eyes ignited a visceral fury.

Hearing the disgust in the room, the son realized his body couldn't block the massive screen. His face burned crimson as he screamed.

"No! We didn't do it on purpose! Stop playing it! Turn it off!"

He turned and bolted toward the projector unit, desperate to rip the cords out. Before he could take two steps, Jerome casually extended a foot.

"Ah!"

The man tripped and went flying forward.

There were at least half a dozen people standing close enough to catch him.

But they all instinctively leaped back in disgust.

With a loud yelp, he crashed violently onto the hardwood floor. In the ensuing scramble, a mysterious foot managed to land a hard kick on his ribs.

The video continued playing. Seeing Nelson convulsing in his chair while the Porter men fake-panicked without lifting a finger to help, Lizettafelt a cold sweat break out. Even knowing Nelson had been faking the severity of the attack, watching them use her accident as a weapon to kill him made her

stomach churn.

The helplessness on the screen felt too real.

She turned pale, her extremities turning to ice.

Suddenly, a large, warm hand enveloped both of hers, trapping them in a comforting grip.

Remington rubbed his thumb gently against her freezing knuckles. He raised his left hand, lightly covering her eyes, and leaned in close to her ear.

"Don't waste your emotions on animals," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly

rasp. "Especially livestock waiting for the slaughter."

His warm breath brushed against her skin, and his commanding presence wrapped around her like heavy blanket. The sheer intimacy of the gesture instantly grounded her, but it also reminded her exactly where they were.

What the hell was he doing in front of all these people?!

She shifted uncomfortably. Catching her embarrassment, Remington dropped his

left hand from her eyes.

However, he outright refused to release her hands, subtly tightening his grip.

If she fought him, it would only draw more attention.

Thankfully Lizetta glanced around and realized every single eye was glued to the projector screen. No one had noticed their little moment in the shadows.