Chapter 567 A Dangerous Investment
Yunice had been watching Wyatt closely, waiting for him to make a move—but he simply went about his work as usual. Nothing suggested he intended to get involved.
Could it be that Wyatt had finally grown tired of Morgan’s behavior? Maybe he really didn’t want to step in this time.
After all, passion could be drained, and even a sense of responsibility had its limits.
That’s why great favors often turned into deep resentments.
Yunice was practicing her spoken English at home, headphones on, when she received a message from Kingsley.
Apparently, some of the men involved in last night’s brawl had been planted by Kingsley. According to word from inside, Morgan was now officially under criminal detention—a warrant had been issued for his arrest.
This meant the police had finally secured concrete evidence, not just speculation like the night before.
The truth was inching closer.
Meanwhile, at the Powell estate…
Paul furiously smashed whatever he had in his hand. “All that planning, and I didn’t account for that idiot Morgan!”
He ran his fingers over the carved letters on his face, seething with rage at Morgan for ruining everything. And he was even more furious that Yunice still hadn’t given him any scar removal treatment!
Just then, a maid hurried past him and dropped what she was carrying.
Paul looked down and saw evening primrose oil, DHA, and other supplements—clearly the kind women used for nourishment.
Already in a bad mood, he grew even more irritated. “Sneaking around with all this—stealing from the house, are you?”
The maid was visibly shaken and quickly waved her hands, panicking. “Sir, I swear it has nothing to do with me! Mr. Powell gave them to me! He told me to—”
She stopped short, then burst into frightened tears. “He told me not to say anything! Mr. Paul, please let me go just this once, I swear I didn’t steal it…”
Paul grabbed her hair and snarled, “Are you gonna talk or not? If you don’t, I’ll have someone string you up and beat the truth out of you!”
“No! I’ll talk!” The maid clutched her own hair, sobbing. “It was Mr. Powell. He told me to send these to the guesthouse. He said the woman there is pregnant and needs to be taken care of so she can give him a fat, healthy son…”
Paul’s eyes bulged. “Didn’t they say the old man was sterile? What pregnancy?!”
The maid cried, “Mr. Powell arranged for an overseas expert. They did IVF. He men picked o embryos, just in case—he said at least one’s bound to take."
Paul’s teeth ground together audibly.
So his damn father hadn’t given up on having another child after all.
Paul let go and stormed off toward Jensen’s study.
The maid quickly wiped her tears and gathered the supplements, scurrying off to a corner.
“Taylor…”
Taylor had been watching the whole thing. She held a card between her fingers and handed it to the maid—a clear message that she was never to show her face at the Powell estate again.
That had been Yunice’s idea.
She’d said, It’s bad to be too desperate.
Paul needed to feel threatened. Only then would he strike back.
If Jensen really had another child, Paul would be cast out of the Powell family for good.
Of course Paul wouldn’t allow that to happen. And Taylor had made sure the maid let it slip that Jensen had more than one child, hidden in different places. That way, even if one pregnancy failed, it wouldn’t stop the threat.
If Paul wanted to win, his only choice would be to take a gamble—and wrest control of the Powell family for himself.
Paul barged into Jensen’s study, rifling through drawers, prying open the safe, and pulling out the Powell family’s asset agreement.
He stared at the document with cold fury and muttered through clenched teeth, “Dad. Grandpa. You betrayed me first—don’t blame me for fighting back. If you won’t let me inherit the family business, I’ll build my own empire. One that belongs to me.”
Taking the agreement, Paul called the project lead of the supposedly high-return investment he’d been eyeing.
“Hello? I’m ready to invest. One hundred billion.”
Yunice finally received the call she’d been waiting for.
She smiled and spoke through a voice modulator, “One hundred billion won’t cut it.”
Paul snapped, “Half a year ago, you said the threshold was one hundred billion. What, your company bankrupt and now you can’t even handle my deal?”
“Quite the opposite,” Yunice said with a smirk. “Mr. Paul, as you said, one hundred billion was the standard six months ago. Now, our company only accepts investments of one trillion and up.”
Paul growled, “Are you playing me?”
Yunice chuckled. “Mr. Paul, my time is worth billions per second. Are you sure you can afford to waste it?”
His face darkened at her arrogance. “Don’t get cocky.”
Turning down business like this—who did she think she was?
But before he could say more, the line went dead.
Paul froze. He redialed, only to be met with a busy tone.
Again and again, same result.
Then it hit him—this only happened when you were blocked.
Paul stared at his phone in disbelief.
Could they really not care about working with someone like me?