Useless Husband is now a Muti-Billionaire

Chapter Eight The Junior Manager

“I asked you a question,” Abel said quietly.

Grant’s smile twitched. “And what are you going to do about it? Hit me?”

He jabbed a finger into Abel’s chest, once, then again. Then he grabbed Abel’s shirt and pulled him close enough that Abel could smell the coffee on his breath.

“You’re a nobody,” Grant whispered. “People like you don’t get inside a building like this. Leave now, while I’m still being kind, or I’ll make an example of you.”

“No.”

The word came out calm. Grant blinked.

Ten days ago, a bookkeeper had wandered into the lobby with an offer to sell the company a stack of technical manuals. Grant had grabbed him by the collar just like this, and the man had bolted before the door closed behind him. That was how it always went. Men like this man—worn suit, rusty car—begged or ran.

This one had said no. And he had said it as if he meant it.

Grant smirked to cover his unease and released Abel’s shirt.

“Maria.”

“Yes, sir.” The receptionist stood straighter.

“Call the police. Tell them we’ve caught a thief in the building.” He kept his eyes on Abel. “And find something we can say he stole.”

“Yes, sir.”

“A few years in prison will teach him his place. He won’t speak to his betters like that again.”

“Yes, sir.”

Maria lifted the receiver and began to dial.

Abel didn’t move. He thought of his mother in her hospital bed, breathing slowly in the dim light of the ward. He thought of the Clements, who had spent five years teaching him to keep his head down. Nothing in this lobby could frighten him after that.

Then, across the marble floor, an elevator chimed.

“What’s going on here?”

The voice was calm and used to being obeyed.

Maria dropped the receiver into its cradle so fast that it clattered. She bowed. “Good morning, sir.”

Four men had stepped out of the elevator. The one in front was tall, white-haired, and dressed in dark gray, and behind him walked three others in sharp suits. Abel had no need to ask who they were. The lobby had gone so still he could hear the air conditioner.

Grant’s knees were shaking. He had never met the CEO in person. He knew the man only from the portrait in the hallway.

“Mr. Kelvin,” Grant stammered, bowing low. “Please don’t trouble yourself, sir. I’ve already handled it.”

Adriano Kelvin didn’t answer. He only looked at Grant, and the silence stretched until Grant understood that it was an order.

“This man claims the board contacted him,” Grant said, the words tumbling out. “He refuses to leave. We’ve called the police.” He glanced at the CEO, smiling, waiting to be praised.

“Step aside.”

“Sir?”

“Step. Aside.”

Grant swallowed and shuffled to the left, bowing as he moved.

The CEO’s eyes landed on Abel.

Abel saw the color leave the older man’s face. Kelvin’s eyes widened, and his lips parted as though he had walked into a room and found a ghost. He knew that face. Abel could see it. He had looked at it many times before, on a profile page, on a screen, in the file that must have taken him a month to find.

Then Adriano Kelvin, founder and CEO of Northwest Energy, bent at the waist.

“Mr. Kane.” His voice trembled slightly. “Welcome. The board and I have been waiting for you. We should have listened to you five years ago.”

“What?” Grant breathed.

Beside the desk, Michael had gone rigid. Maria’s hand still hovered over the telephone, as if she had forgotten how to put it down.

Grant’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

Abel looked at the three people who had spent the last ten minutes calling him a liar, and he said nothing at all.

Behind the CEO, the other executives bowed too.