Chapter 1159

"Chairman, Mr. Porter stepped up purely to stabilize the company. He would never sabotage our market value with rumors."

"Exactly, Chairman. He constantly told us he prayed for your swift recovery. He made it clear his role was strictly temporary until you returned. You must be mistaken."

"We are thrilled you are back in good health, Chairman. But right now, we need to focus on stabilizing the market, not chasing conspiracy theories."

...

Nelson swept a cold gaze over the dissenting executives. He gave a subtle nod. Jerome immediately uploaded a new batch of files to the projector.

With a chilling smirk, Jerome looked at the elder Mr. Porter. "Since you firmly deny leaking the rumors to crash the stock, perhaps you'd like to explain these?"

The screen lit up with damning evidence. Wire transfer receipts to prominent tabloid media outlets. Chat logs explicitly instructing journalists to push the narrative that Nelson Madden was on his deathbed.

And finally, high-definition paparazzi shots of his eldest son having secret dinners with media executives.

While the bank transfers came from an offshore account, the cyber trail clearly linked the funds to a fake identity operated by his son.

The evidence was airtight. There was no room left for denial.

The Porter men turned a sickly shade of green. Jerome laughed darkly.

"What's wrong? Run out of excuses?"

The old man's lips trembled, but no sound came out.

Driven to the edge of madness, the son snarled, "Jerome, don't push us too far!"

"Pushing too far?" Jerome repeated, his tone dripping with venom. "Alright then. Since you think I'm crossing a line, let's just obliterate it."

Jerome clicked to the next file. A new video started playing.

It was shaky cell phone footage taken in a VIP club booth. Neon lights flashed over discarded liquor bottles.

In the center of a very messy, highly inappropriate crowd sat the eldest son, heavily intoxicated, with his arm wrapped around a woman young enough to be his daughter. He was practically shouting over the music.

"That old Madden geezer is nothing! He's dying anyway! I'm telling you, the Madden Group is about to get a totalebrand Welcome to the Porter Group!"

The video continued with a chorus of sycophants cheering him on, mocking the Madden family's downfall.

Watching the footage, the patriarch felt his blood pressure spike into the danger

zone.

He couldn't fathom his son's staggering stupidity.

He had explicitly ordered him to keep a low profile and act clean.

Not only had the idiot left a massive paper trail with the wire transfers, but he was also bragging about a hostile takeover in a nightclub!

Dark spots danced across the old man's vision. He spun around, glaring at his son with murderous intent.

Unable to hold back, he raised his leg and kicked him with all his remaining strength.

"You worthless piece of trash!"

But his body was completely spent

The sheer force of the kick threw

him off balance. His vision went

black, and he collapsed sideways like a felled tree.

"Dad!" the sons screamed, rushing forward to catch him.

Remington and Jerome exchanged a seamless, telepathic look. Both men rushed

forward with expressions of extreme concern.

"Careful, Mr. Porter!"

"Don't let the anger get to you!"

Under the guise of helping, the two

men perfectly boxed out the Porter brothers, physically wedging themselves between the falling man and his sons.

Without anyone to break the fall, the old man hit the solid floor with a sickening, heavy thud.

The room erupted in gasps.

By the time the paramedics hauled the unconscious man away on a stretcher, the conference room had descended into a terrified silence.

The remaining Porter loyalists stood frozen, their faces drained of blood, waiting for the axe to fall.