Chapter 206: Dead Man Walking

Paul gritted his teeth and said, “You’re just scared.” Trying to provoke Wyatt, he sneered, “You talk a big game, but at the end of the day, even your woman’s just my leftovers.”

The smile in Wyatt’s eyes faded. Sensing the sudden shift in mood, Paul doubled down, even more defiant. “You like her, don’t you? Too bad. That one moment in her life she’ll always remember—she gave it to me. No matter how hard you try with her now, every time she closes her eyes, it’ll be my face she sees.”

Got him. He’s pissed.

Paul’s lips curled into a nasty grin, like he’d finally grabbed Wyatt by the tail. Wyatt started walking toward him—slow and steady—and Paul’s expression darkened in an instant. Then, pain exploded across the top of Paul’s foot, forcing his back into a painful arch. The end of Wyatt’s cane had dug deep into the leather of Paul’s shoe. He turned slightly, leaned in, and whispered in Paul’s ear, “You’re dead.”

Wyatt flashed a crooked smile. “Next time she thinks of you, all she’ll picture is the mess you went out in. I’ll have you torn limb from limb and scattered to the four winds. Maybe your hand ends up in the drink, your head’s six feet under somewhere it doesn’t belong, and what’s left of you goes to the dogs. How’s that for going out with a bang?”

Paul’s face went pale, then green. With every word Wyatt spoke, a vivid image took over his mind until he broke out in a cold sweat. He couldn’t tell if Wyatt was bluffing or not, but he wasn’t about to take the risk. He shut up.

Wyatt wasn’t done. With a cutting sneer, he added, “Wonder if, once you’re gone, that useless old man of yours will be able to squeeze out another Powell heir? Then who’s gonna carry the family name, huh? Eh. Whatever, that old bastard never did anything good for the world. Maybe it’s better if all of you…” His voice trailed off, the last word unclear.

The more Wyatt talked, the hunter Paul’s hands shook—because every word hit too close to home. If Paul died, the old man just might go crawling to Wyatt, begging him to come back and take over the Powell name. A cold dread washed over Paul; he could feel it in his gut—Wyatt wanted him dead. That cruel grin, the lazy gleam in his eyes as he spoke...

His mind finally began to settle. No, he couldn’t give Wyatt the chance to kill him. He had to strike first.

Finished.

Wiping the cold sweat from his forehead, Paul couldn’t sit still any longer; he broke into a jog, rushing off to find Jensen.

Meanwhile, Owen brought a fresh change of clothes to the bathroom and helped Elsie out. But when he returned to look for Paul, the guy had already vanished. Calls went unanswered, and Carl was too high up the Powell chain for Owen to bother without permission. For now, he was stuck outside, seething and helpless.

Inside Carl’s private lounge, Yunice sipped her tea in peace. Carl lounged in a wicker chair across from her and said, “You hesitated when I asked you that question the other day. That’s how I knew—you want to be with that kid.”

He flipped through the file in his hands, his tone suddenly unreadable. “So you’re here now, asking me to back him?”

Yunice replied, “Mr. Carl, Wyatt’s offering thirty percent profit cuts. That’s something the Powell family will never give.”

Carl furrowed his brow, his thoughts still a mystery. “In this world, there’s no shortage of tailwinds to ride. The trick is knowing which is a spring breeze…and which is a death chill.”

Pick the wrong one, and not only do your investments vanish—you might go down with them. Wyatt was young, untested by time. Meanwhile, the Powell empire was old money: even dying, it was still stronger than most.

Carl set the document Yunice had brought down on the desk. Her heart sank. She was probably about to lose the negotiation. Sure enough, Carl gave a heavy sigh and asked, “Yunny, if I don’t sign this today, do you lose all your worth in Wyatt’s eyes?”

The question caught Yunice off guard. “I haven’t thought about that.”

Carl continued, “We businessmen…we’re all paranoid by nature. And I’ve got this nagging feeling—he brought you to the billiards hall that day on purpose.” He was starting to believe Wyatt was using Yunice.

Yunice chuckled. “That was probably just coincidence. Wyatt built everything from the ground up. I’ve never once heard of him leaning on a woman to make it.” Then she joked, “Mr. Carl, I swear he didn’t force me to bother you. You’re my uncle. You taught me how to play pool, remember? You and my father always stood on equal ground in my heart.”