Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Eli
Drake’s fingers fly across the keyboards, his jaw tight. “This isn’t random. Wolfe’s been planning this for years.”
The blue glow of the screens casts sharp shadows across the war room. Lines of data flicker across multiple monitors, mapping out a strategy that’s been unfolding right under our noses.
Xander steps in beside me, arms crossed, scanning the timeline taking shape.
“Every challenge we overcame, every setback we rebounded from—he was watching. Studying. Learning how to tear us down.”
Isla’s voice makes us all turn. She stands in the doorway, tablet clutched against her chest, her face paler than I’ve ever seen it.
“He’s not just trying to sabotage the Artisan Hotel. He’s dismantling Edward’s entire legacy.”
The words settle in the room like a bomb.
I take the tablet from her hands, scrolling through the highlighted sections of one of Dad’s old speeches.
“Everything Wolfe has attacked—living walls, smart glass, the energy grid—was something Edward championed.” Isla’s voice is tight. “He’s not just targeting our innovations. He’s proving a point.”
My grip tightens around the device.
“So this isn’t just about revenge.” I lift my gaze. “This is about proving Dad was wrong.”
Drake exhales sharply, his fingers drumming on his desk before he turns back to the screen.
“The Ethics Committee needs to see this.”
“We tread carefully,” Isla warns, pinning another connection to the evidence board. “If we reveal too much?—”
“We expose our own vulnerabilities,” I finish.
“But if we hold back, Wolfe walks away clean.”
Drake’s voice is low, vibrating with frustration.
I scan the room—at Xander’s steel resolve, at Isla’s sharp focus, at Drake’s restless energy.
“We don’t just bring proof,” I say. “We bring a strategy.”
Xander nods. “This is just the beginning.”
The boardroom is silent as I step inside.
High-backed chairs surround the long mahogany table, a room filled with people whose decisions have shaped the financial landscape of this city for decades.
But the only one I care about is sitting directly across from me.
James Wolfe.
His suit is impeccable, his posture relaxed, but his hands rest too carefully against the polished wood.
A tell.
Drake moves first, tapping his tablet.
“Five years ago, a pattern emerged.” Screens come to life, flickering with financial records, corporate acquisitions, and overlapping timelines. “Each move, carefully calculated. Each acquisition, targeting the core of Alderidge’s sustainable vision.”
Wolfe gives an easy smile, but I see the flicker of calculation in his eyes.
“Circumstantial. Many companies invest in sustainable technology.”
I click to the next slide.
“But how many systematically acquire patents that match the Artisan Hotel’s original blueprint?”
The board members lean forward.
“This is absurd,” Wolfe scoffs, but the tension around his mouth gives him away.
Drake doesn’t stop. The screens shift—security footage, restricted access points breached, maintenance logs altered.
“Facial recognition confirms they work for shell companies linked to Wolfe Development Group,” Drake says. “The same companies that began acquiring these patents five years ago.”
Murmurs ripple through the room.
Then Isla stands. She spreads printouts across the table. Edward’s speeches, technical journals, innovation forecasts—all showing the same deliberate pattern.
“Each attack,” she says, her voice clear, “was personal.”
A flicker of irritation passes over Wolfe’s face.
I let the silence stretch before I press the final slide. “Have we?”
The screen fills with emails.
His emails.
Discussions on exposing the flaws in Alderidge’s vision.
The boardroom is deathly still.
His hand tightens against the chair.
“Private communications?—”
“Submitted legally.” Mrs. Wu, the Ethics Committee chair, leans forward, her badge catching the light. “By a whistleblower within your organization.”
Silence.
Tension winds tighter.
I watch Wolfe’s mask slip—just slightly—but enough.
“This isn’t over,” he mutters, standing abruptly.
I meet his gaze, my voice steady.
“You’re right. But not in the way you think.”
The door closes behind him.
The damage is done.
I wait until the boardroom empties, my mind still replaying Wolfe’s last look—something darker than anger, deeper than hatred.
Isla touches my arm. “You okay?”
I exhale slowly, meeting her eyes.
“I should be. But I can’t shake the feeling that even now, he has something else planned.”
She reaches for my hand, grounding me. “Then we face it together.”
The tension eases, just enough.
I squeeze her fingers. “Side by side.”
An hour later as I stand behind the stage and take a deep breath, feeling the weight of what we’re about to do. The truth has been our weapon all along. Now it’s time to let it fly.
The stage manager gives me the signal. Three. Two. One.
The press room is buzzing when I step onto the stage.
Cameras click. Reporters shift in their seats, pens poised. Behind me, screens display the Artisan Hotel in all its restored glory—a symbol of everything we’ve fought to protect.
“Thank you all for coming.” My voice carries through the room.
“Today, we’re not just discussing the Artisan Hotel’s grand opening. We’re addressing the importance of corporate integrity.”
A journalist raises a hand. “Mr. Alderidge, are you suggesting Wolfe Development Group deliberately targeted your company?”
I meet her gaze. “We’re not suggesting anything. The evidence speaks for itself.”
Drake taps his tablet. Screens fill with documents, showing financial trails, security breaches, and patterns leading straight to Wolfe.
“Sources say the FBI is involved,” another reporter presses. “Can you confirm?”
I glance at Xander, who gives a slight nod. “We are fully cooperating with all relevant authorities.”
A new voice cuts through the air.
“These accusations are baseless.”
Wolfe.
The cameras pivot toward him as he strides in, his legal team trailing behind him.
“Are they?” I step aside, letting the evidence speak for itself.
Wolfe’s mask slips—for just a second.
Then Andrea Davis from the Wall Street Journal stands. “Mr. Wolfe, is it true your father voluntarily transferred property to Edward Alderidge?”
The question lands like a bullet.
Wolfe’s jaw tightens.
“No comment.”
Another journalist presses. “Sources suggest your uncle, Jonathan Wolfe, was involved as well. Do you have a response?”
For the first time, something raw flashes in Wolfe’s eyes.
“You know nothing about my father. About what your family took from us?—”
I hold his gaze. “Your father made a choice. Everything else? That’s the story you chose to believe.”
The cameras capture every second.
His lawyers scramble, ushering him away.
The headlines are already breaking.
I step back from the podium, letting Xander take over.
The truth is out.
And this time, Wolfe can’t bury it.
I watch the chaos unfold from the sidelines as reporters fire off questions, their voices overlapping in a frenzied storm. The footage of Wolfe’s reaction is already trending, headlines stacking up across the screens behind the press pool.
Empire Built on Lies: The Fall of James Wolfe.
Wolfe Development Scandal Exposed in Real-Time.
Was the Wolfe Family’s Feud Based on a Lie?
Xander signals to the security team, ensuring there are no disruptions as I step off the stage. I barely make it three steps before Isla is at my side.
“He’s unraveling,” she says quietly, watching as Wolfe and his attorneys retreat. “But this isn’t over.”
“It never is.”
We keep walking, moving past the press and into the private corridor leading back to the executive offices.
“He looked shaken,” she murmurs.
“He should be.” My voice is even, but inside, I can still hear his parting words.
“You’re more like your father than I thought.”
The worst part? He wasn’t wrong.
I spent years trying to prove I wasn’t Edward Alderidge—only to realize I’d spent this entire battle protecting his legacy with the same ruthless precision.
But unlike my father, I wasn’t blind to the cost.
I slow, catching Isla’s wrist, forcing her to stop. “Are you okay?”
She looks up, and for a second, the exhaustion in her eyes matches my own.
“I should be,” she says. “But I keep thinking… he’s been planning this for years. And even now, even after all of this—he still had something to say. He still had something left.”
The weight of that truth settles between us.
Wolfe isn’t done.
But neither are we.
I cup the side of her face, my thumb brushing her cheek. “Whatever comes next, we handle it together.”
A small breath escapes her, her body shifting slightly into my touch. “Side by side?”
“Side by side,” I murmur.
She nods once, then steps back, squaring her shoulders.
“Come on. I think Drake’s about to lose his mind.”
The war room is buzzing when we enter.
Drake is pacing, typing furiously on his tablet. Bash is standing at the long conference table, arms crossed, watching as IRIS processes Wolfe’s latest movements.
“He’s already making moves,” Drake says, not bothering with pleasantries. “His team is running damage control, shutting down access to certain servers, flagging internal accounts.”
“Trying to contain the fire,” Xander mutters, scanning the screens. “It won’t work.”
“The press is eating this up,” Bash adds. “Our story hit every major outlet within minutes. The board is holding an emergency review of all past dealings with Wolfe Development. They don’t want the company tied to this in any way.”
I exhale, running a hand through my hair. “That means they’ll vote to sever all potential business ties.”
“Exactly,” Isla says. “Wolfe won’t just lose face. He’s going to lose everything.”
Drake shifts uncomfortably. “That might be the problem.”
Everyone turns to him.
“He’s cornered.” Drake taps the screen, pulling up financial models. “Before today, he had a way out. A way to control the narrative. But now?” He shakes his head. “He’s desperate.”
A tension-heavy silence fills the room.
Desperate men do dangerous things.
Xander leans forward. “IRIS, run a deep scan on all Wolfe-affiliated accounts. Look for any anomalies, large asset movements, anything that signals?—”
“Already scanning,” IRIS replies. “Financial shifts detected in offshore accounts. Wolfe Development stock decline accelerating.”
“He’s liquidating,” Drake mutters. “Fast.”
I clench my jaw. “Which means he’s either running—or he’s planning to fight back.”
Isla’s fingers tighten around the edge of the table. “He won’t go quietly.”
She’s right.
And we have no idea what his next move will be.
It’s after midnight when I finally step onto the rooftop of the Artisan Hotel, the city stretching out in a sea of glittering lights.
The grand opening is less than a few days away. After everything, the hotel stands.
We built this.
Despite Wolfe’s attacks. Despite every attempt to tear it down.
I hear the soft click of heels behind me. Isla moves to my side, wrapping her coat tighter around herself as she follows my gaze over the skyline.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs.
“It’s more than that,” I say, looking at her instead. “It’s proof.”
She turns slightly, eyebrows raised.
“Proof that we built something that lasts,” I continue. “Proof that we fought for something bigger than revenge.”
She exhales, nodding slowly. “It almost feels… surreal.”
“It is.”
A long pause stretches between us. The air is cold, but her presence is warm beside me.
For months, we fought to protect this.
Now, we finally have a moment to breathe.
I glance at her, taking in the soft way the city lights illuminate her face, the way her hair moves gently with the night breeze.
“You never doubted me,” I say quietly.
She looks at me then, something unreadable in her expression.
“Never,” she whispers.
A lump forms in my throat.
I lift my hand, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her breath catches, her lips parting slightly.
For the first time in weeks, it’s just us.
No fights. No war. No Wolfe.
Just Isla.
Just me.
And the one thing I nearly lost.
I lean in, slow, giving her the chance to pull away.
She doesn’t.
Her lips meet mine in a kiss that is soft and aching, a whisper of everything we’ve endured. I cradle her face, deepening it slightly, needing to remind myself that this—us—is real.
When we finally pull back, she exhales shakily. “Eli…”
I press my forehead against hers. “We made it.”
Her fingers tighten against my chest. “Yeah. We did.”
A faint smile tugs at my lips. “And we’re just getting started.”
She laughs softly, but the sound is full of warmth, full of something lighter than anything we’ve carried before.
Hope.
A future.
Together.
By the time we return inside, everything is in motion.
The grand opening is set. Security is tight. The media presence is already gathering.
Wolfe is nowhere to be seen.
For now.
Drake, Bash, and Xander are gathered in the main lobby, reviewing final preparations. When Isla and I approach, they all look up.
“Well,” Bash drawls, taking a sip of coffee. “Would you look at that? You two actually got some sleep.”
I smirk. “Something like that.”
Xander pushes a finalized report toward me. “Everything’s locked in. But we need to be ready for anything.”
I nod. “We will be.”
Because tomorrow, the Artisan Hotel officially opens its doors.
Tomorrow, we prove that what we built is stronger than what tried to destroy it.
And tomorrow, if Wolfe decides to make his final move, we’ll be ready.
For the first time in weeks, I feel it.
Not tension.
Not exhaustion.
Not war.
Certainty.
I glance at Isla, and she nods.
We’re in this.
Together.
And whatever comes next?
We win.