Kapitel 7: High Stakes Gamble

"What my family does is beyond my control. I'm too old for this," Sinclair said coldly. "As long as they keep the family safe and the business thriving, I want no part in it."

"So, you don't care about the life of a stranger whose taken bullets and poison meant for your real granddaughter?"

"You've benefited from that life. You were an orphan, and my son saved you. He gave you a name, a status — everything most girls can only dream of."

"He didn't save me — he used me. And now he plans to discard me."

Sinclair's face remained as hard as stone, as if I were speaking to a statue.

Why were the men in my life all like this? I wondered.

"If you don't help me, then Sebastian will die."

Sinclair paused, his piercing eyes locking onto mine. "And pray tell, how is my dog's life connected to yours?"

This was it — the moment of truth. I was betting everything on this one card, foolish and reckless, but there was no turning back now.

"I know something about Sebastian that could potentially save his life. If you help me live, I'll tell you what it is."

Sinclair's expression didn't waver. "If you mean Sebastian's cancer, I already know."

". . . "

I felt the world collapse around me. The walls closed in, suffocating me with the weight of my own foolishness.

"You . . . you know?"

Sinclair's eyebrow arched as a smirk tugged at his lips. "Judging by your reaction, I assume that's the big secret you were holding onto. Too bad — I've known for a long time. And he couldn't be save. You're already a year too late," he finished like he could read my plans.

How could this be? I was certain Sinclair didn't know. If he did, wouldn't he have done everything in his power to save Sebastian long ago? Or had I been wrong? Had he tried to save the dog, only for it to die in the end?

"I've known about Sebastian's cancer," Sinclair continued. "I kept it a secret to prevent anyone from using his sickness against me. But what baffles me is how you know. Only Victor and a few trusted experts are aware of his condition."

How did I know? Simple — I've regressed and seen the future, but there was no way I could tell him that. He'd have me committed to an asylum.

"Who told you?" Sinclair's voice was sharp like a knife.

"Is that really important right now?"

Sinclair's eyes narrowed as he picked up his cane. "You're right. It doesn't matter. What matters is that you leave my sight before I have security throw you out."

He stood, his cane tapping the floor with finality. "And never come back."

I bit my lip, the anger boiling inside me. My fists clenched as I fought the urge to grab him and force him to listen. But I knew better — Sinclair wouldn't be swayed by emotion. My plan had failed, but I wasn't giving up. If I couldn't reach him with sentiment, I'd appeal to his true nature — business.

"Wait!" I dropped to my knees, swallowing my pride as I begged. Every nerve in my body screamed to get up, but my life was on the line, and I had to endure. "Loan me ten million dollars!"

Sinclair froze mid-step.

"Loan me ten million, and I'll return half a billion within six months. All I need is for you to take me under your protection!"

I heard him chuckle, but he didn't turn around. To him, I must have sounded insane. What business skills did I have? How would a seventeen-year-old possibly gather that much money in such a short time? It must have seemed like a joke.

"And why would I want to do that? As you can see, I can easily get that amount of money, even if, by some miracle, you manage to accumulate it."

"Because it will prove that I'm valuable to be discarded!" I shot back. "Getting that amount of money in that short time will prove my skills and earn my place here."

I could sense a shift in the air. Sinclair valued money, but he valued people who could be useful to him even more.

"All your propositions are based on 'what ifs,' with no concrete evidence of your abilities. I'm not about to shell out ten million dollars on a gamble. Get out."

"They are 'what ifs,'" I admitted. "But wasn't it 'what ifs' that built this empire? Didn't everyone dream and started in 'what ifs' first? Ten million is just a drop in the bucket compared to what you'll gain if I succeed!"

There was a tense silence before Sinclair's voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Victor!"

Victor appeared within seconds.

"You called, sir?"

"Escort her out," the old man ordered, the thud of his cane growing fainter as he walked away.

I closed my eyes, my heart sinking. This was it. I had failed.

". . . and deposit ten million dollars into her account."

My eyes shot open, wide with shock. Victor's mouth hung agape.

"One billion by six months," Sinclair finished. "Or I'll personally see that you drown on some forgotten island."

And with that, he was gone.