Chapter 187

Liam sat at the head of the long table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, one hand tapping a folder marked Projecto Verano: Colombia Site B. The room was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioning and occasional throat-clearing. Around him, four department heads waited, their expressions strained.

“We received confirmation from the Bogotá office at 3:12 PM,” said Julian Park, regional project coordinator. He slid a packet of photos across the table. “The protestors arrived before dawn. The local press arrived within the hour.”

Liam flipped through the images. Men and women holding handmade signs stood outside the construction fence. Some had tents; children were visible in the background.

“They’re locals?”

Julian nodded. “Mostly Indigenous land advocates and a few environmental watchdogs. They’ve filed a formal complaint with the regional planning board. Apparently, they weren’t properly consulted before the groundbreaking.”

“Weren’t they?” Liam asked.

“We followed protocol,” said Alex Tan, head of legal. “But the NGO filing the complaint is pushing for a new land survey. They claim the environmental impact study we submitted was outdated.”

Liam leaned back, arms crossed. “Do we know if the complaint has merit?”

Alex hesitated. “There might be a data gap. The original study was done two years ago. The surrounding areas may have changed.”

“Then do a new study,” Liam said. “Start it this week.”

“That won’t stop the protests,” Julian added. “We need a public statement or a site visit. Preferably both.”

“I’ll go,” said Martin Chavez, VP of Development for Latin America. “I can fly out tonight.”

Liam shook his head. “No. You’ll stay here. You know the specs and local contacts. You’re more useful coordinating than making appearances.”

“Then what should we do?”

Liam tapped his fingers. “Release a statement saying the company will reassess the environmental impact report with third-party oversight. Announce a community forum next week. Get someone from planning to organize it, ensuring local leadership is present.”

“And the protestors?”

“Let them stay,” Liam said. “No police. No removals. We work around them. Give the media nothing to escalate.”

Julian nodded, taking notes. “If they see us addressing the issue, they’ll calm down. If we act like they’re a nuisance, this goes international.”

Alex cleared his throat. “You don’t want to fly out?”

“I have another event tonight,” Liam said, checking his watch. “One I can’t miss. If you handle this right, I won’t have to.”

The room was quiet for a moment. Then, they all nodded.

“Give me a status report every six hours until it’s under control,” Liam said, rising.

“Will do,” Julian said.

Liam grabbed his suit jacket and buttoned it while walking to the door. “And update me if any cameras appear at the site, especially international ones. We solve this quickly and cleanly. I want that land issue resolved before the end of the quarter.”

He left before anyone could reply. To his surprise, a familiar face waited outside.

“Liam…” Olivier Horvath greeted him.

Liam halted. “Olivier,” he said flatly. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t shake his hand, nor hide his irritation. He was calculating how his father bypassed security and reached the executive floor. No one had contacted him. How long had he been there?

Olivier didn’t hesitate. “I’ve been calling you since that little encounter this weekend. What kind of son ignores his own father like a stranger?”

Liam didn’t blink. “You are a stranger.”

Olivier’s jaw tensed. “Watch your tone.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Liam said, adjusting his cuff. “I have other business.”

Olivier stepped forward. “Fine. Then maybe I’ll just go find Isabella Rossi. I’m sure she’s not as busy.”

That made Liam pause. He didn’t react immediately, but his head turned slightly. His father needed to say no more.

Liam exhaled, turned, and started walking. “Follow me.”

He led his father to his private office and opened the door silently. Olivier entered first, eyes scanning the room.

“Modern,” he muttered. “Too modern.”

Liam closed the door. “You redecorated since last time. What is this—charcoal gray?” Olivier ran a hand along a cabinet. “Looks like a tech startup, not a real business.”

Liam stood behind his desk. He didn’t sit. “What do you want?”

But Olivier was still walking, inspecting. “This desk looks cheap,” he added, gesturing. “That’s not oak. And the chairs? Plastic? Leatherette? This is what you spend investor money on?”

“I didn’t ask for a review of my office,” Liam said.

“The painting’s off-center,” Olivier continued. “And what’s that supposed to be? Abstract? You always were too soft for real art.”

Liam didn’t respond. He waited.

Finally, Olivier turned, hands in his pockets. “Fine. I’ll get to the point.”

He didn’t get there immediately. He took his time, but Liam was done indulging.

“You said Isabella’s name,” Liam cut in. “What do you want from her?”

“From her?” Olivier raised an eyebrow, settling onto the couch. “Nothing.”

“I am not playing games, Olivier.”

“You should call me Father.”

“You were never one,” Liam snapped. “If you came here to argue—”

“I know about what you did,” Olivier said.

Liam narrowed his eyes. His father smiled. “You and that Rossi girl. I didn’t expect you to marry each other.”

“Is this about you not being invited—”

“You should let me finish talking, Liam.”

Liam clenched his jaw, but said nothing, letting his father continue.

Olivier leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on Liam. “I wondered why a woman like Isabella Rossi would agree to marry you. Out of nowhere. No relationship. No announcement. No headlines. Just silence.”

Liam didn’t move.

“So,” Olivier continued, “I did what I do best. I looked into it.”

He paused, letting the silence stretch. Liam remained silent.

“And I found something,” Olivier added. “Something interesting.”

He stood, walked to Liam’s desk, and rested a hand on the surface. “Do you wanna hear it?”

“Tell me,” Liam said, eyes narrowing, “does she know?”

Liam’s brows drew together. “Know what?”

“That you manipulated everything.” Olivier’s voice was quiet, steady. “Including the night she found out Calen Weiss was cheating on her… with her cousin Monica.”

Liam’s expression didn’t change immediately, but his fingers curled slightly on the desk’s edge.

Olivier tilted his head. “Did you tell her, Liam? That it wasn’t an accident? That you knew about the affair long before it became public, long before she knew it? That you timed everything—so perfectly—that it all fell apart right when you needed it to?”

The room went still.

Olivier took a step back. “I’m just curious,” he said. “Does Isabella know you were keeping tabs on her? That you watched her for months before she even agreed to marry you? Some people might call that stalking, Liam. Has she figured that out yet?”

Then he smiled again. “Or is she still thanking you for saving her?”