Chapter 175
Chapter 175:
Rose nodded, her gaze following a jogger far below. “And when you control Kane Industries?”
“We dismantle it,” Herod said simply. “Sell off the profitable divisions, shut down the rest, including the Phoenix Grid.”
“And Camille?”
“Publicly humiliated. Professionally destroyed. Exactly what you wanted.”
Rose closed her eyes, imagining the scene. Camille, watching helplessly as everything she had worked for crumbled. The press that had once hailed her as Victoria’s brilliant protégé would turn on her, portraying her as the foolish woman who fell into bed with the enemy, who lost an empire through weakness.
“What time is your meeting with the reporters?” Herod asked.
“Eleven,” Rose replied, glancing at her watch. “I’m meeting the Spectator’s editor off the record at that café near Columbus Circle. He gets the exclusive photos, and I’ll feed him quotes from ‘sources close to Kane Industries’ suggesting the relationship has been going on for months.”
“You’re not worried about being recognized?”
Rose laughed. “I’ve spent my life learning how to change my appearance. Besides, the media has forgotten me already. Six months is an eternity in their world.”
She had dyed her hair dark brown and now wore it in a severe bob, a far cry from her previous flowing blonde style. Thick-framed glasses and carefully applied makeup altered the shape of her face. The transformation was so complete that, yesterday, she had walked past a former client in the lobby without being recognized.
After ending the call, Rose returned to the table, meticulously organizing the materials for her meeting. The fabricated financial documents suggested that Alexander had been buying Kane Industries stock through proxies even before meeting Camille. The fake email trail indicated that he had pursued her with calculated intent, not genuine interest. The manufactured evidence showed that he had previously used relationships to gain business advantage.
None of it would stand up to serious investigation, but that didn’t matter. By the time anyone disproved the allegations, the damage would already be done.
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An hour later, Rose sat in the back corner of the café, waiting. She had arrived early to secure the perfect table—private enough for a confidential conversation, but public enough so the editor wouldn’t feel trapped.
She spotted him the moment he entered: Malcolm Reed, the executive editor of The Spectator, a man whose tabloid had once featured Rose herself in its society pages. He scanned the café, not recognizing her even as his gaze passed over her. Rose raised a hand slightly, and he approached.
“Ms. Johnson?” he asked, using the fake name she’d given.
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