Chapter 69.1

Chapter 69.1

André left the office earlier than usual and got into the car driven by Enzo, heading toward Lafayette Residence. Charles had refused to come to work all of last week, claiming he was bedridden with a cold, and even today, he was nowhere to be seen.

Up until two months ago, André had pushed Charles every morning, practically dragging him to the office. But ever since André moved into an apartment near the company to save time on his commute, Charles had been skipping work more frequently, coming up with one excuse after another. André knew he was just waiting for the perfect opportunity to escape to Paris.

But with the annual shareholders’ meeting coming up in September, there was no time to be sick—no time for a trip to Paris, either. Even if Charles wasn’t actually doing anything of value, he at least needed to show up. That was the bare minimum to prevent Gordon Lowell from using his incompetence as an excuse to seize the company.

And yet, even that seemed too much for him.

“Hah…”

André let out a frustrated sigh.

Under New York State law, Lafayette-Lowell Group’s fiscal year ended in March. Since late last year, the company had slowly started recovering from its losses, and by the first quarter of this year, both cash flow and profitability had improved significantly.

Still, the overall financial statements remained weak. It would take time for André’s efforts to fully materialize and reflect in the numbers. That was why he had postponed the annual shareholders’ meeting—usually held in June—until the legal deadline in September.

In response, Gordon Lowell’s son, James Lowell, had attempted to call an extraordinary shareholders’ meeting through Mars Investments. However, André had blocked the move on procedural grounds, despite the legal risks involved. Just as expected, James Lowell had threatened legal action, but in the end, they needed time just as much as André did.

They had underestimated him.

They had assumed that Lafayette-Lowell was a leaderless company, ripe for the taking. But then André had suddenly emerged, upending their plans—rewriting company bylaws, installing a poison pill, and rallying shareholder support in a desperate effort to defend his position. His aggressive countermeasures had caught them off guard.

Now, the shareholders were split into two opposing factions: those aligned with Lafayette and those supporting Gordon Lowell. Holding the decisive swing vote was the Collins family, who remained indecisive, wavering in the middle.

[Damn Lorraine Cabot…]

André muttered under his breath.

It felt like a loose noose had been draped around his neck. And the thought that he might eventually have to pull it tight with his own hands filled him with a visceral sense of revulsion. Loosening the tie that seemed to be choking him, he unconsciously reached into his inner pocket—only to stop midway.

Hold it together.

Lately, he had been in a constant state of razor-sharp tension, like walking on thin ice. There was no room for even the smallest mistake. Those around him treaded carefully, gauging his nearly imperceptible shifts in expression.

He had no appetite. He forced himself to eat the bare minimum, just enough to stay alive. Sleep didn’t come easily either. His nights were a series of brief, restless hours, only possible after exhausting his body through relentless exercise.

For reasons he couldn’t understand, a dull pressure would often tighten in his chest, only to be followed by sudden waves of inexplicable anger. And once the rage passed, his mind would become muffled, like a dark sea shrouded in thick fog before a storm. After that came the lightning-strike migraines—sharp, blinding, and unbearable.

When did I start becoming like this…?

Whenever his stress reached its peak, his instinct was to reach into his suit’s inner pocket. The only relief he found was a brief loosening of the tension coiling through his muscles—hardly effective, yet more addictive than any illicit drug. But worse than that was the crushing sense of self-loathing that always followed.

He had only resolved to quit a few days ago.

And yet, once again, he couldn’t resist. His fingers found their way to his pocket, retrieving his wallet. From within, he pulled out a single hidden photograph.

Staring at it for a long moment, he leaned back against the seat, resting his arm over his forehead. Finally, he felt like he could breathe again, his diaphragm expanding as he took a deep, steadying breath.

What the hell were you thinking, sending me this?

It was a ridiculous picture of Miran—her cheeks puffed out, her eyes crossed in a goofy expression.

He let out a bitter chuckle.

This photo had gone from his wallet to the trash can, then back to his wallet again—several times—before finally settling into the deepest pocket, as if it belonged there all along.

And after everything, you even tried to blackmail me. How audacious.

A line from her letter, now permanently etched into his memory, surfaced in his mind.

‘If you don’t reply to this letter either, then I’ll give up on you, André. I’ll forget you completely, as if you never existed in my life from the start. I mean it. Just wait and see!’