Whitney just laughed when she heard that—an unsettling, cold laugh that sent shivers down everyone’s spine. “I may not have a will,” she said, her voice sharp, “but I do have something better—a living mother. Ludwik, put the video up!”
Ludwik, always the loyal assistant, nodded and hooked his phone to the big screen in the boardroom.
Whitney dialed the video call. The line connected instantly.
When the image popped up, jaws around the table just about hit the floor.
No one was more shocked than Florence. She stumbled backward, almost letting out a scream, grabbing onto Bryce like she’d seen a ghost. “Parisa… How is this possible?”
Bryce looked like he’d seen a ghost too. Parisa—alive, breathing, right there on the screen in a hospital bed, oxygen mask and all. Bryce felt a cold sweat break out down his back.
On screen, Parisa pulled off her oxygen mask, her face pale but unmistakably alive.
The shareholders who’d met her before gasped in disbelief.
“Is that Ms. Tennyson? She’s not dead?”
Whitney smiled, just a touch smug. “That’s right. My mother survived, thank God. Erik, you can come in now.”
As Whitney called out, Erik’s tall figure appeared at Parisa’s bedside, joining the video call.
Ludwik spoke up, his tone crisp and professional. “Ms. Tennyson, are you conscious? Can you tell us—who kidnapped you and pushed you off that cliff four days ago?”
Parisa nodded; she looked weak, but her eyes were sharp as steel, staring right through the camera at Bryce and Florence like she could tear them apart with her gaze alone.
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