315 Edge Of Negotiation
Chapter 315 Edge Of Negotiation
Quinn’s heart jerked to a stop. The dice she had been toying with slipped between her fingers as she whipped toward the entrance. Through the drifting cigarette haze marched Julius, a phalanx of black- suited bodyguards fanning out behind him until they formed an iron wall opposite the casino’s security detail.
The guard captain, a square–jawed man with a wire in his car, clearly knew power when he saw it and hurried forward, shoulders stiff yet respectful. “Are they your friends?” he asked, voice pitched low in wary deference.
“She is,” Julius said, pointing a gloved finger at Quinn. “He is not.” His hand drifted to Harlan without warmth. “But both of them leave with me tonight.”
“Mr. Whitethorn, they caused a disturbance–broke house rules,” the captain protested, though sweat already glimmered at his hairline. “If we let you take them without consequence, how are we to enforce the rules in the future?”
Julius did not bother arguing. He slid a sleek phone from his breast pocket, thumbed a single contact, and spoke with the cold brevity of a man who owned the minutes of others. “It’s Julius Whitethorn. I’m removing two guests from your floor. I can raise your profit share by another zero point three.”
By the time Julius ended the call, the captain’s own earpiece crackled. Whatever orders poured through made his spine snap even straighter.
He waved his team back at once, then plastered on a conciliatory grin. “Mr. Whitethorn, we’ll clear the floor for you. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
And just like that, a confrontation that had been coiling for blood collapsed into polite silence, vanishing as though violence had only been a rumor.
The moment the casino staff retreated, Quinn tore away from the gaming tables, sprinting past bewildered patrons until she burst through the revolving doors and into the humid night. She scanned the glittering sweep of taxi lights and limousines, but her brother’s silhouette was nowhere to be found.
Am I really going to miss him again–so close I could feel him, yet never close enough to grasp?
Her gaze snapped upward to the black bulb of a surveillance camera perched above the awning, red light blinking like a tiny heartbeat.
Of course–the footage could lead her straight to him. A single replay would reveal the license plate of the car that had spirited the look–alike away, perhaps even his face inside the gaming hall.
lookin
“Quinnie!” Harlan called, darting after her. “Were you for Rowan?”
“Yes,” she answered, breath still ragged. “I can’t find him out here. The only option is to ask the casino for their surveillance.”
If they refused, she would simply breach their system herself–one more wall to climb, and walls had never stopped Quinn.
“Give me a few days,” Harlan promised, chest rising with restless energy. “I’ll sort it out.”
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Chapter 315 Edge Of Negotiation
Pulling favors in Doria was trickier for both the Ingram and Windore clans, their real power lay far across the sea. He would need a neutral fixer, someone who could negotiate for the tapes without drawing fire
“If you want casino footage, let me handle it,” Julius said, voice drifting over them like cool smoke 1 can have the files in your hands tonight.”
Quinn turned, eyes widening at the offer that had materialized out of thin air.
Of course–Whitethorn holdings dotted every corner of Doria. The man in front of her was practically family with the casino’s owners.
“You can really get it right now?” Quinn surged a step closer, the question spilling out before caution could clip its wings.
“I wouldn’t have spoken if it weren’t certain,” Julius replied. “It may take a short while to process. And since it’s dinner time, why don’t we sit, cat, and let the reels spin in our favor?”
She hesitated only a heartbeat before nodding. “All right.” Without wasting another second, she rattled off the exact timestamps and camera locations she needed–precision carved by urgency.
“Count me in,” Harlan added with a crooked grin. “You don’t mind one more seat at the table, do you, Mr. Whitethorn?”
Julius slanted him a glance cold enough to frost glass, offering no verbal answer. Then he leaned toward Fabian, murmured a string of instructions, each word clipped and surgical.
Fabian nodded, turned on his heel, and disappeared back into the neon interior of the casino.
“By the time we finish dinner, the footage will be waiting,” Julius said, as though he were describing the arrival of dessert rather than classified security files.
The obsidian–colored Maybach slid to a halt beneath the neon blaze of Regal Ace Casino. Flashing lights
in danced across its polished hood, as though the sedan itself were gambling with fate. A Whitethorn bodyguard in a razor–cut suit stepped forward his gloved hand sweeping the rear door open perfected by years of serving power.
a gesture
Julius remained by the open doorway, eyes fixed on Quinn, who still lingered on the marble steps. “Are you not getting in?” he asked, his voice low, silk masking steel.
“Harlan and I drove ourselves,” Quinn replied, calm yet unyielding. “We’ll follow your car.”
His dark gaze narrowed. “And what if I prefer that you ride with me?”
“Then you’ll need one of your men to drive mine,” Harlan said, flipping the key fob into the air. The metal winked once before landing in a Whitethorn guard’s palm. Harlan rattled off the license plate as if daring anyone to forget it.
Without pause, he hooked Quinn by the elbow, guiding her to the front passenger seat of Julius’s car. Settling into the back, he shot Julius a half–smirk, half–challenge. “Julius, aren’t you getting in?”
Two men–two immovable wills–faced each other in the sliver of space between door and curb, tension crackling like a live wire.
2/3 After a heartbeat that felt a minute long, Julius lowered his gaze, slid into the rear seat, and let the leather
Chapter 315 Edge Of Negotiation
swallow him whole.
Harlan followed, the door thunking shut with a note of defiance.
A suffocating hush pooled inside the cabin, every breath weighted by unspoken rivalry. In the front, Quinn stared ahead, yet her mind replayed the clevator lobby–where she’d glimpsed a man who looked heartbreakingly like Rowan.
Did Rowan lose his memory? Or is some unspeakable reason forcing him to pretend he doesn’t know me? When I reached the elevator, he’d looked straight at me–no flicker of recognition, only the polite blankness reserved for strangers. A chill is crawling up my spine, and I can’t shake it.
Harlan’s voice sliced through the silence. “Mr. Whitethorn, that extra zero–point–three percent you just promised the casino–I’ll pay it. After all, Quinnie and I caused the mess.”
Julius let out a soft, dismissive laugh. “You will? Suppose that zero–point–three equals sixty million–are you still eager to open your wallet?”
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