Dark Revenge Of A Jilted Bride: Till Life Do Us Part!-Chapter 133: Begging For Help

Meanwhile, miles away from the Thorne mansion, Clement was kneeling in an almost dark room, his knees pressed painfully into the cold floor, before a man shrouded completely in shadow.

The only thing visible of the strange man was the red butt of the cigar he was smoking heartily, its ember flaring and dimming with every slow drag.

Clement looked hassled, thoroughly undone.

He had actually been roughed up when he arrived at the mansion, beaten, if the dried blood crusted at the corner of his lips was any indication.

His shirt, once ironed to perfection, was now riddled with deep creases, buttons ripped out of their holes, some missing entirely, the fabric no longer tucked in.

His tie was gone. The same tie that had been used to almost choke him to death mere minutes ago.

But none of that was Clement’s concern at the moment, not the pain, not the dull throb behind his eyes.

What mattered most was getting this man on his side, getting this man to stop Noah from the madness he had set himself upon.

Clement couldn’t lose the company. He would do anything, go to any ends, just to make sure he still owned it.

His breath hitched when he saw the cigar move.

Judging from its glowing butt, it shifted to the side, then lowered, before being dropped neatly onto a plate resting on a table.

"So, Clement... let me get this straight..."

The man leaned forward, but that movement didn’t bring light to his face.

If anything, it only piled more anxiety onto Clement, who was hoping against hope that this meeting would favor him, even though from the moment he stepped through the gates of the mansion, it had been anything but favorable.

He hadn’t expected to be beaten for no reason.

"You want me to go against the public’s current favorite at the moment?"

Clement wisely kept his mouth shut, knowing the man wasn’t done speaking, knowing better than to interrupt.

"I don’t think I can," the man continued calmly, "and I don’t think Neil wants to continue doing business with you."

A dry chuckle followed. "And don’t you know that’s why you took some beating... you almost cost me a client."

There was a pause as the man picked up the cigar again, bringing it back to his lips, while Clement waited with bated breath for the final punchline, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"As you know, Clement, I’m just a middleman. A regulator in all these things. Very neutral." Smoke curled lazily in the air.

"I don’t have direct access to anyone, or anything really. And I like my job far too much to give my head away on a platter of gold, simply because you want to do away with Noah Newman."

Clement shook his head immediately. "I am not asking you to do away with him," he rushed out. "I am only asking that you speak to him... maybe change his mind about acquiring my company."

"You have already used up that slot, Clement," the man interrupted coolly, taking another slow pull of the cigar.

"You remember? Years ago, when you wanted your life back after Whitman threatened it. There isn’t another slot for you, sadly." He tilted his head slightly. "Unless you have good payment?"

Clement nodded quickly, desperation written all over him, even as his mind raced through calculations, through figures he could possibly scrape together.

He hadn’t even known he had a slot with this man. He had thought friendship alone was enough.

"How much do you have then," the man pressed, "considering you owe your niece for selling her properties... and your stupid daughter has drawn up quite a debt too, both against the Whitmans and the Becketts’ company?"

Clement swallowed hard. "A hundred thousand?"

The man’s laugh came sharp and sudden, devilish, making Clement shiver and shrink into himself, especially when the guard who had brought him into that part of the mansion started laughing as well.

What? A hundred thousand dollars couldn’t get him what he wanted?

"Five hundred thousand," Clement said, bolder than he actually felt, his voice cracking slightly.

The man scoffed. "If you are joking, you better quit it. Dissuading Noah will take nothing less than five million dollars."

Clement’s eyes widened in the darkness. Five million dollars?

He sagged, settling fully onto the floor, eyes dropping to the ground he could barely see, his legs stretching out before him, no longer caring if he was beaten again.

But even then, his mind was calculating. He could get the man five million dollars. And if the company was saved afterward...

He pursed his lips. How would he convince the shareholders to keep him in his seat?

He couldn’t go to Gianna now. After watching the interview, his gut told him that would be a disastrous idea.

No more shooting himself in the foot.

Clement’s shoulders sank with every realization, the weight of it crushing. He was really done for. He was deep in the mire. How could he get himself out of this? Was there truly no way?

"But there is something you can pay with," the man said suddenly, "that would help your cause... would make annoying Noah worth the effort."

Clement perked up instantly, hope flaring back to life. He scrambled back to kneeling, eyes lifted to the man before him like someone staring at a god.

"What is it? I can give it!" he blurted.

The man chuckled again, clearly amused by the display. "The ledger. Are you still with it?"

Clement cursed out loud before he could stop himself, earning a brutal knock to the head from the guard behind him.

"What’s the meaning of that?" the man asked, annoyance threading his voice. "Why are you cursing? Don’t tell me you’ve lost it."

Clement ignored the burning pain at the center of his head. "I..." He closed his mouth, shame and fury choking him. "She took it back."

The man stood abruptly, causing Clement to scramble backward like a terrified child. No one laughed. The air in the room tightened dangerously.

"She did what?" the man demanded, stepping closer.

He squatted in front of Clement, forcing him to meet his gaze, treating him to the black irises of his eyes, empty and unforgiving. "How did she know there was a ledger?"

"I... don’t... know," Clement stuttered, fear crawling up his spine as murderous rage filled the room.

"Does she know what could possibly be in there, Clement?"

Clement didn’t know. But he feared that admitting it would seal his fate, so he shook his head quickly. "No. She doesn’t."

The man sighed, studying him for a long moment, then straightened. "She better not, Clement, for your own sake. Your family’s actions may have already prompted eyes on the club, as Edward Thorne is known to be as persistent as his granddaughter and her husband."

His voice hardened. "We don’t need the ledger making it a certainty."

A pause followed.

"Now get your stinky, broke self out of here."