How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 637

He’d always kept a trump card up his sleeve, just in case he could one day use it to keep Elodie under control and squeeze every last bit of value out of her.

But now, Elodie had changed so much, he barely recognized her.

“Dad, what are we supposed to do if Elodie won’t budge, no matter what we try?” Reba’s mood was foul, and she forced the words out through clenched teeth.

Malcom, for his part, was just as lost.

If things really blew up, there was a lot at stake for him, too.

If the Silverstein family traced everything back to him, what would happen then? The whole affair would be an embarrassment for the Silversteins, and before they kicked Elodie out, there was no telling if they’d crush the Harcourts first.

“We’ll have to play the long game.”

Reba narrowed her eyes, thinking hard for a while. “Actually, I’ve met someone recently who might be very interested in Elodie’s situation.”

Malcom glanced at her.

Reba finally allowed herself a sly smile. “Dad, maybe it’s time we tried a different approach. Grab what we can, while we still can.”

—

The Silverstein Group.

The assistant walked in to report, “Mr. Silverstein, Mr. Nilsson is here.”

Jarrod didn’t even look up from his paperwork. “Let him in.”

When Maurice Nilsson entered, Jarrod was still seated behind his desk, his posture perfectly straight. He wore a pair of rimless glasses perched on the bridge of his nose—a habit he’d developed for work—his shirt sleeves rolled up just enough beneath a dark waistcoat, the sharp lines of the vest softening his stern presence with an air of refinement.

Maurice clicked his tongue.

That face could fool a lot of people, he thought.

“You’ve been impossible to pin down for a drink lately. I figured you were off building relationships—turns out, you’re just married to your job?”

Jarrod shot him a sidelong glance. “Some of us aren’t as free as you.”

He wasn’t the type to drown himself in parties or booze. He’d been to plenty of gatherings since he was a kid, but he’d never left one drunk.

Even when things blew up with Elodie, he refused to numb himself with alcohol.

He hated that kind of escapism. He preferred to keep his mind sharp and focus on actually solving his problems.

“I can’t skip today. It’s Freya’s eighteenth birthday—big event. Not showing up would be rude.”

Jarrod paused, his cool gaze lingering on the documents before him as if he was weighing several thoughts.

“What time?”