The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1843

As the car vanished into the distance, Fabian exhaled heavily. "Tell me, was my decision wrong?"

The driver, Algar Trev, fell silent for a moment before speaking. "I believe you have your own considerations before making your decisions. But would you like to hear my thoughts?"

After he finished, Fabian seemed intrigued. "Go ahead. Let's hear it."

Keeping his gaze fixed on the road, Algar's lips began to move. "To me, the future is in the younger generation's hands. Young people today are eager to step out and forge their own way.

"Look at the other businesses' heirs, for instance. A lot of them are like porcelain dolls. People whisper behind their backs, claiming they're only depending on their families and are completely useless on their own.

"Would you want Ms. Quinnell to end up like them, or would you rather her be someone you can take pride in?"

These words resonated deeply with Fabian, leaving him in thoughtful silence. Indeed, if Wynter were to remain sheltered, she could easily fall prey to manipulation. The thought made Fabian sigh.

He turned his gaze to Algar. "Your words strike a nerve. I might get Wynter to stay by my side if she ends up like them. But I'm getting old and won't be around forever. If she becomes my pride, though, the time we have together will inevitably be shorter."

The car drove at a slow pace but eventually reached the branch office. Fabian masked his feelings, exuding an air of authority that demanded respect without the need to say a word.

As Fabian stepped out of the car, the branch manager, Blythe Daly, hurried over. "Mr. Quinnell Senior, you've arrived."

Fabian's voice was stern. "If I hadn't come, this branch might have collapsed by now."

Blythe shook his head helplessly. "The company's affairs haven't been overwhelming since Ms. Quinnell went missing. But there's this manager, Corvin Parris, who not only neglects his duties but has also been privately rallying minor shareholders, trying to seize control of the equity."

Fabian nodded. "I'll handle this. Is the management team all in the conference room?"

"Yes. We gathered them as soon as you notified us. They're waiting for you now," Blythe responded.

With that, Fabian straightened his posture despite his age, gripping his cane as he strode toward the conference room.

As they neared the door, Blythe rushed ahead to open it. The room, previously silent, turned its attention to the entrance. When they saw Fabian, everyone stood.

"Mr. Quinnell Senior." Their voices rang out in unison.

Fabian waved his hand, signaling them to sit, then made his way to the head of the table. Once seated, he spoke first. "I've called this meeting because there are individuals in this branch with unchecked ambitions—people exploiting their positions to manipulate equity and seize control."

The reactions in the room varied—some looked shocked, others kept their heads down, and a few remained expressionless.

"Corvin Parris," Fabian called out.

Corvin, seated to Fabian's right, responded immediately, "Yes?"

Fabian continued calmly, "I've heard you've been neglecting company affairs while privately coercing others into selling their equity at inflated prices."

Corvin's eyes darted to Blythe. "Blythe, what nonsense have you been feeding Mr. Quinnell Senior?"

Blythe retorted righteously, "You shouldn't be afraid of being exposed for what you've done."

Corvin turned to the others indignantly. "When have I ever bought equity from any of you? When have I neglected my duties?"

Fabian remained silent, observing the exchange.

"Mr. Parris, just admit it. You came to my home, offering to buy my shares at a high price and threatening that my family would suffer if I refused."

"Mr. Parris, have you forgotten what you did? The last time I brought documents for your signature, you glanced at them and asked if you really needed to sign them before kicking me."

Their accusations left Corvin speechless. He was a man of action, not words.

Seeing the moment was ripe, Fabian looked at Corvin. "You were hired by Wynter, correct?"

Corvin suppressed his emotions and replied evenly, "Yes, Mr. Quinnell Senior."

Fabian then turned to Blythe. "You were among the first employees here. I remember you."

Blythe smiled. "Yes, Mr. Quinnell Senior. Your memory is as sharp as ever."

Fabian chuckled. "Blythe, do you know why I only nodded when you badmouthed Corvin earlier? That's because I've never doubted my granddaughter's judgment. I had someone investigate your claims."

At that moment, Algar entered with a file and some photographs, handing them to Fabian.

After flipping through the documents, Fabian slammed them on the table. "Blythe, who gave you the audacity?"

Blythe paled at the sight of the evidence. "Mr. Quinnell Senior, these could be fabricated. I'd never dare to covet the Quinnell Group!"

Fabian waved his hand, and Algar restrained Blythe. Fabian glared at him as he explained, "These might be forged, but a person's character can't be faked."

Then, he called out toward the door, "Come in."

Several employees of varying ages entered.

Fabian addressed them. "Speak one by one."

An older man stepped up. "I'll speak first. From my experience, Mr. Parris isn't the type of person people say he is. As a security guard, I see everyone coming and going.

"There was one time when I fell ill and informed Mr. Parris. Since the other guard was on the night shift, there was no one to replace me. Mr. Parris told me to go to the hospital right away and took my uniform to cover my shift.

"When I came back after my check-up, I found him standing guard in my place. It's rare to find a manager who shows that kind of care for his subordinates."

A young woman spoke up next. "Last month, my department head unexpectedly asked me to stay late while everyone else left. I didn't understand why until he came up to my desk, smiling.

But this time, they were unusually quiet, a stark contrast to when Dalton had first been brought up the mountain, each eager to provoke. It wasn't that they looked down on anyone. They just sensed that Wynter's feelings this time were different.

After all, they had heard before that Wynter had once considered returning to the imperial capital. Now, with Raleigh—a childhood friend—as an excuse, it wouldn't seem abrupt. And really, after being away from home for so many years, who wouldn't want to go back and check on things?

So, before Wynter could even find the time to have a proper talk with Dalton, she was interrupted. It was one of the boy toys who used to serve in her hall, bringing word of Ailithir's impending tribulation.

Frowning, she responded, "Take me there."

Before leaving, she deliberately glanced at Dalton—a silent promise to continue their conversation when she returned.

Dalton gave no response. It was unclear whether he understood.

Wynter had considered taking him along, but the increasingly unrestrained hostility radiating from him made her hesitate. She was worried that the truth might be exposed if he stood before Ailithir. After all, the way Ailthir had looked at Dalton before was as if he already suspected something.

Dalton didn't move.

In the past, she would take him no matter where she went. But this time, she merely nodded at him. She was acting more like a princess issuing orders than the open, talkative woman he had first met on the mountain.

His eyes wandered toward a far-off door, his thoughts hidden beneath an unreadable expression. There was a stormy depth to his gaze, constantly shifting like gathering clouds.

He had always possessed a captivating, youthful charm that drew lingering looks, but now, as a grown man, his striking features were so compelling that they outshone everything around him.

But the very intensity that made him captivating also carried a heavy, stifling presence. Despite his air of intellectual elegance, whenever he withdrew into silence, a haunting darkness seemed to linger around him.

"You're still here?" It was Garth, the same person who had just summoned Wynter away—one of the three boy toys who had once warned Dalton that his favor wouldn't last.

"You've witnessed it yourself. Her Highness has always been this way—her interest in people never lasts. She treats us kindly so that others will notice and treat us well, too. It's also out of pity for people like us. In this vast world, perhaps only Mt. Nyxvarn would take us in without asking who we used to be.

"But Mr. Winston is different. They're the same kind of people.

"You've always been a clever person since the day Her Highness brought you here. None of us could ever figure you out, but we know you came from the Wretched Grounds and were an offering who was nearly devoured by evil spirits.

"Her Highness saved you and brought you up the mountain. Maybe she liked your face, but mostly, it was just her kindness.

"But we can't mistake that kindness for permission to overstep. Some things were never meant to be ours from the start. You—"

Garth spoke as if offering wisdom, trying to console Dalton. From his perspective, no matter how well Wynter treated anyone, there had never been any real romantic affection involved. He was afraid Dalton might misunderstand and do something irreversible.

Dalton listened. But the more he listened, the colder his presence became.

If anything, the consolation only stoked the flames. His fingers brushed lightly against each other as he contemplated. Making Garth disappear would be effortless.

These people prayed to the gods and heavens every day, never stopping to consider that heaven itself could grow displeased.