She Was the Treasure All Along novel Chapter 938

"The rules of the cartel?" Giselle's voice finally held a trace of emotion—pure, biting sarcasm. "Mr. Dawson, are you referring to the 'rule' where you and your friends collude to artificially inflate the price of luxury silk? Or maybe the 'rule' where you blend polyester into your fabric and pass it off as one hundred percent silk? Or perhaps you mean the 'rule' where you blacklist any garment factory that dares to buy materials from outside your network?"

The private dining room went dead silent, as if someone had hit mute on the entire world.

Chadwick's gaze shifted into something genuinely menacing. He didn't bother denying a single accusation because everything she said was true. It was an open secret in the industry, but absolutely no one had ever dared to throw it in his face.

"I see. So you really are dead set on making an enemy out of me," Chadwick growled, his voice dropping an octave. "Even if it costs your daughter her life?"

Giselle didn't flinch. Instead, she unclasped the briefcase at her feet, pulled out the thick stack of files, flipped to a specific page, and slid it across the table until it rested directly in front of him.

Chadwick glanced down at the paper. His pupils dilated in pure shock.

It was a detailed log of money he had laundered through a shell corporation three years ago.

It even included screenshots of the original bank transfer receipts. Every dollar, every routing number, every hidden account was meticulously documented. It was more than enough to put him in federal prison for a decade.

His fingers twitched. He snapped his head up, glaring at Giselle with a sudden, very real flash of fear.

"Where the hell did you get this?"

"From the heiress of the Lonsdale family, of course," Giselle said smoothly, standing up and grabbing her briefcase. She looked down at him with icy disdain. "Loyce Lonsdale is fully aware of everything you've tried to pull with Bloomberry recently. So tell me, Mr. Dawson. Do you really want to test her?"

The mere mention of the Lonsdale family—a dynasty with global power—sent a cold spike of dread down Chadwick's spine.

He quickly pulled out his phone under the table and shot a text to a high-level informant, demanding to know Loyce's current whereabouts.

The reply came almost instantly: *Ms. Lonsdale and Mr. Shapiro flew out of the country for a vacation yesterday. They haven't mentioned anything about Bloomberry.*

Giselle couldn't see his screen, but she saw the fear drain from Chadwick's face, instantly replaced by a rabid arrogance.

He let out a bark of laughter and tossed the file back. "Don't try to use Loyce Lonsdale to scare me. I don't buy it for a second. What, do you think just because you work for her brand, you're under her personal protection?"

He didn't believe she had actual backing from the Lonsdales. Plan A had officially failed.

"Then we have nothing left to discuss," Giselle said coldly, turning toward the door.

Her hand had barely grazed the brass handle when the loud screech of a chair scraping against the floor echoed behind her.

"Giselle." Chadwick's voice chased after her, dripping with malice. "If you walk out that door, you're making your final choice. Don't expect any mercy when things get ugly. And what I said about your daughter? That wasn't an empty threat."

Giselle froze. When she turned her head, her eyes were pitch black and terrifyingly calm.

She merged onto the main artery of Riverside Drive. At first, there was still a decent amount of traffic from the tail end of rush hour. Her sleek black Mercedes blended perfectly into the sea of taillights.

About ten minutes later, the traffic began to thin out. The glittering skyscrapers slowly gave way to decaying, industrial warehouses. The streetlights grew further apart, casting long, menacing shadows across the pavement.

Giselle glanced in her rearview mirror.

A black Buick was tailing her, perfectly matching her speed.

She had noticed the car the second she pulled out of River's Edge. It had been idling in the lot across the street. When she moved, it moved. When she turned, it turned.

She didn't feel the icy grip of panic. Instead, she felt a strange, detached sense of absolute certainty.

She hit the gas.

The Mercedes engine roared to life, jumping from forty to sixty miles per hour in seconds.

The Buick immediately accelerated to keep pace. As she sped up, two more unmarked black sedans pulled out from a side street, slotting in right behind her.

Giselle watched the blinding glare of their headlights creep closer in her mirror. Her lips pressed into a thin line. She violently jerked the steering wheel, throwing the Mercedes into a sharp turn down an abandoned industrial access road...