Chapter 167

“Sir, I’ve made some calls. It seems some Blackwell Group members will attend a gala tomorrow night. I secured invitations, as instructed. They’re for you and the Vice President,” Renard’s secretary said.

“Alright.” Renard nodded, leaning back, closing his eyes. He gestured for his secretary to leave. He’d had no sleep in days, and exhaustion was finally catching up.

Renard sat motionless, fingers pressing against his chair arms. His eyes remained closed, but his mind raced. There was no time for rest. Liam’s words had spurred immediate action. He’d spent days pursuing every option—contacting banks, seeking loans, trying to secure capital to stabilize Weiss Inc.—but all his requests were denied. Their reputation was severely damaged.

The FBI investigation had terrified potential investors. Banks refused involvement, citing the risk. Even longtime acquaintances, former friends, had withdrawn their support. They’d used him when convenient—soliciting favors, leveraging connections, attending galas, feigning strong ties. But now, when he needed them? They were gone.

Renard’s fingers twitched. Pathetic. Every single one of them. He didn’t even try to convince himself they were genuinely fearful of implication. That was an excuse. The truth: they didn’t want to be associated with a failing company. A mistake. Because he would recover. And when he did, he would remember each and every one of them. He would cut them off completely, ensuring they never again profited from Weiss Inc. or its connections. Not in this lifetime.

A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts. Renard opened his eyes as Calen entered, his expression grim. Renard straightened, his grip tightening slightly. “What’s the news from the hospital?”

Calen stopped near the desk. “Mother is still unconscious,” he said. “The doctors are pessimistic.” Renard’s jaw tensed. He’d anticipated this, but hearing it still fueled his frustration. He inhaled sharply, then exhaled quickly. “And Monica?”

Calen’s hands clenched. “She’s still in prison.”

Renard’s fingers pressed harder against the desk. “Good,” he muttered. “I want that woman to rot there.”

Calen breathed slowly, shoulders tense. “Our lawyer is concerned,” he said. “Monica’s exhibiting signs of mental instability. She might use it to escape the trial.”

Renard’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

Calen shifted. “She’s claiming postpartum depression. Our lawyer says she might use that, along with other mental health defenses—especially since she lost her child.”

Renard’s grip on the desk remained firm. “That’s stupid.”

Calen exhaled, shaking his head. “The legal system may disagree.”

Renard studied him a moment before leaning back. His gaze sharpened. “If you’d handled things properly, none of this would have happened.”

Calen’s jaw clenched.

Renard let the words hang before leaning forward again. “But it’s too late now.”

Calen remained silent, fists tightening. The silence was heavy. Renard returned his gaze to the papers on his desk, his mind already moving on. More pressing matters demanded his attention.

“Have you asked the Johnson family for help?” Renard asked.

“I have, and Pamella said her father would be willing,” Calen answered. “But it wouldn’t be enough. They’re hesitant to provide funds while the investigation continues, fearing reputational damage.”

Renard barely reacted. His focus remained on the papers. The Johnsons’ reluctance didn't matter. More funding would be secured soon.

“It doesn’t matter,” Renard said. “We’ll secure what we need soon enough.”

Calen’s brows furrowed. “How?”

Without answering, Renard reached for a thick ivory envelope on his desk and slid it toward Calen.

Calen picked it up, opening it. His eyes scanned the contents before returning to Renard. “A gala?”

Renard leaned back, watching him. “Organized by a Blackwell Group representative. Their people will be there.”

Calen glanced at the invitation again, his fingers tightening. “And?”

Renard exhaled slowly. “It’s an auction. Proceeds go to charity, but that’s irrelevant. We’ll have an opportunity to speak with someone from the Blackwell Group.”

Calen tapped the envelope before setting it down. He looked at Renard carefully. “This group…it’s too suspicious.”

Renard’s expression remained unchanged. “They’re based in Europe. Their records are clean. They own multiple companies legitimately. They expand by acquisition, not by destroying businesses. They have holdings worldwide.”

Calen’s eyes narrowed. “So what? You think building connections with them will help us?”

Renard didn’t blink. “With the right connections, they could help stabilize our situation.”

Calen scoffed. “The Blackwell Group has been eyeing Weiss Inc. for months. They want to acquire us. Why would they help us?”

Renard didn’t respond immediately. That silence was enough. Calen’s fingers curled against the desk as realization dawned. His gaze snapped back to Renard.

“You’re selling your shares to them,” Calen said.

Renard neither confirmed nor denied it.

“Father—you—are you planning to sell your shares to the Blackwell Group?” Calen asked.

“Don’t worry. It won’t affect the shares I plan to give you when I retire,” Renard said.

“But—” Renard’s shares were already divided amongst his children, including Calen. While still in Renard’s name, his will had been updated to include his children, diminishing Calen's share.

Renard exhaled sharply, folding his hands on the desk. “I’m not selling my shares,” he said. “I’m using them as collateral.”

Calen’s brows furrowed. “Collateral?”

Renard nodded. “It’s the only way to secure the funding we need.”

Calen’s fingers tightened around the invitation. “You can’t be serious. The Blackwell Group is suspicious. You can’t just trust them.”

Renard leaned back, watching him. “Then tell me, who should I trust?”

Calen opened his mouth, but no answer came.

Renard gestured toward the papers. “The banks won’t give us loans. Investors won’t return my calls. Our so-called friends from the past are nowhere to be found.” He paused. “The Blackwell Group has a clean record. They operate legally. They wouldn’t risk ruining their reputation.”

Calen shook his head. “That doesn’t mean they won’t take advantage of us.”

Renard didn’t waver. “Once we secure funding, the project will be completed quickly. That solves everything.” Calen pressed his lips together, his jaw tight.

Renard didn’t care about his son’s doubts. This was the only way forward.