Chapter 161
Chapter 161:
Paola said nothing, shrinking from her mother’s biting words about her father, her eyes fixed on the floor.
Softening at the sight of her daughter’s pain, Laurel pulled her close and spoke gently. “This isn’t about who you’re related to. Rylie only managed something special because she borrowed your ideas. You’re the reason she stood out. Your talent is miles ahead of hers p>
For the first time that evening, Paola’s eyes brightened as hope took root. She clung to Laurel’s sleeve and whispered, “I want to do this, Mom. I want to show Rylie what I’m capable of. Will you help me p>
Wrapping her daughter in a tight embrace, Laurel answered without hesitation, “Absolutely, you have my support p>
Much later, with night pressing against the windows, Rylie sorted through her emails at her desk. The shrill ring of her phone broke the silence — Ron Bentley was calling.
She picked up, her voice edged with fatigue. “Ron, what’s so urgent at this hour?” The Wesdown International Piano Competition counted Ron among its senior organizers, yet he was far more than an administrator; royal blood from Ostium flowed in his veins, and music was his lifelong pursuit.
Excitement laced his words. “Word is out that you plan to unveil the restored version of that incomplete classical score you bought a while back. Are you really doing it at the competition p>
A steady composure marked Rylie’s response. “I managed to finish reconstructing it, but it took a while p>
Surprise lingered in Ron’s voice. “I honestly didn’t think you’d ever make that piece public p>
Without missing a beat, Ron continued, “You’ve even agreed to play the final piece yourself, stepping in as a judge. The participants this year will witness a legend at the piano — X. Aria, live p>
Rylie allowed herself a small, wry smile. “If I’d had a choice, I wouldn’t be doing this p>
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“That’s all I needed to hear. Don’t think you can change your mind at the last minute,” Ron said.
“You have my word. I’ll take my seat at the judges’ table,” replied Rylie.
Once the call ended, she peeled the wrapper from a lollipop and popped it into her mouth. Afterward, she logged onto her dark web account to skim through fresh emails.
A new tip from Britton caught her eye. The navy had hauled up weapon fragments for analysis and looked set to bring in specialists for further dismantling. If the research panned out, the arms factory she worked with might miss out on a future contract.
She hardly worried. Most of her shipments had gone north, and she knew others would try to duplicate her work. Still, none came close.
Her technology remained out of reach, no matter how hard the competition tried.
Another alert reported that a full shipment of weapons had surfaced in Crolens and Troale. But the goods had disappeared without a trace, whisked away by a crime syndicate soon after arrival. The authorities were scrambling to investigate.
Crolens. That name made her pause. She muttered to herself, “So they wound up in Crolens? I’ve never hacked their port surveillance system before.” Strict firearm regulations defined the country where she resided. Without government backing and considerable ingenuity, moving weapons into Crolens would have been impossible.