Taming My Sugar Mommy
Chapter 74: Richard’s Grand Plan

Chapter 74: Richard’s Grand Plan

Isabella stared at her uncle, the shock of seeing him alive warring with the betrayal of Marcus standing stoically behind her. For fifteen years, she had believed Richard dead—a victim of the same tragic "accident" that had claimed her mother.

"You seem surprised," Richard said, his thin smile never reaching his cold blue eyes. "Did you think I would stay away forever? That I would allow you to profit from what you did?"

Isabella’s mind raced. "What I did? Uncle Richard, I mourned you. Everyone did."

Richard’s face darkened, his composed demeanor cracking slightly. "Mourned me? Like you mourned your father?" He stood suddenly, his palms flat against the desk. "Don’t play innocent with me, Isabella. Not after what you did to my brother."

"My father died of a heart attack," Isabella replied carefully, watching his reaction.

Richard laughed—a hollow, bitter sound that echoed in the spacious room. "Is that the story you’ve been telling yourself all these years? That it was natural causes? That you had nothing to do with it?"

He walked around the desk, moving with surprising agility for his age. From a nearby credenza, he retrieved a crystal decanter and poured himself a generous measure of amber liquid.

"You want a drink?" he asked, raising his glass. "No? Perhaps later. You’ll need it."

Isabella remained standing, her handcuffed wrists before her. "Why don’t you tell me why I’m here, Uncle? Skip the theatrics."

Richard sipped his drink, studying her over the rim of his glass. "He speaks to me, you know. Your father. My brother." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Every night for nine years, I’ve heard him. Begging for justice."

A chill ran down Isabella’s spine. There was something unhinged in his eyes—a fervor that hadn’t been there in the uncle she remembered from childhood.

"My father was a monster," Isabella said quietly. "You know what he did to me. The bruises I tried to hide when I came to your house. The ’accidents’ that kept happening."

"LIES!" Richard’s voice boomed through the room as he slammed his glass down, liquid sloshing over the rim. "He was disciplining an ungrateful, manipulative child. A child who grew into a woman capable of patricide."

Isabella’s composure finally broke. "Patricide? You think I killed him?"

"I know you did," Richard hissed, moving closer. "Just as I know you built your empire with money stolen from him. The fortune you used to create Ashworth Luxury Events—that was his money, his wealth—stolen by the daughter who murdered him."

"That’s insane," Isabella whispered, taking an instinctive step back. "I was twenty-two he died. I built my company from nothing, with my own talent and hard work. He left nothing but debts from his mismanagement and gambling."

Richard’s face contorted with rage. "More lies! He was brilliant! Everything you are, everything you have, you built with his stolen fortune." He took a deep breath, visibly struggling to regain control. "But now, it’s time for reparation."

He returned to his desk, opening a leather portfolio to reveal a stack of documents. "Here’s what’s going to happen, Isabella. You’re going to sign these papers, transferring full control of Ashworth Luxury Events to me. You’ll then record a video confession, admitting to embezzlement, fraud, and conspiracy—enough to destroy your reputation forever. And then..." he smiled coldly, "you’ll disappear."

Isabella’s mind raced, buying time. "And if I refuse?"

Richard’s expression softened in a way that was somehow more terrifying than his anger. "Oh, Isabella. You won’t refuse. Not when you understand the stakes." He pressed a button on his desk, and a hidden panel in the wall slid open to reveal a bank of monitors.

One showed live security footage of the compound. Another displayed financial data—her company’s private records. The third showed a map with a blinking dot.

"You see that?" Richard pointed to the map. "That’s your loyal Christina and your new boy toy, Liam, thinking they’re cleverly tracking you." He chuckled. "Unfortunately for them, we’ve been aware of your little implant since the moment it was put in."

Isabella’s blood ran cold. "If you hurt them—"

"That depends entirely on you," Richard interrupted. "Sign the papers, and they live. Refuse..." he trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air. "And just so we’re clear about who suffers first—it will be Liam. Slowly."

Isabella’s thoughts raced. If Richard knew about the tracker, then Christina and Liam were walking into a trap. But why hadn’t he simply disabled it? Unless...

"You want them to come," she realized aloud. "You’re using me as bait."

Richard smiled approvingly. "You always were quick. Yes, your little rescue party is about to become part of our negotiation. Marcus—" he nodded toward the door, "go prepare our welcoming committee."

Marcus hesitated, his eyes briefly meeting Isabella’s. "Sir, the agreement was—"

"The agreement," Richard cut in sharply, "was that you would follow orders. Now go."

After Marcus left, Richard turned back to Isabella. "Loyalty is such a fickle thing, isn’t it? Your trusted head of security, turning on you for a mere thirty million dollars." He laughed at Isabella’s expression. "Oh yes, everyone has a price. Even the supposedly incorruptible Marcus."

---

Outside the compound, Liam and Christina had pulled off onto a secluded service road, their car hidden among dense foliage as they monitored the tracker signal.

"Something’s wrong," Christina muttered, tapping rapidly on the tablet. "The audio’s cutting in and out."

Liam leaned over, studying the screen. They’d heard enough to understand Isabella was facing her uncle—supposedly dead for fifteen years—but the transmission had become increasingly erratic.

"Could it be interference from the building?" Liam asked.

Christina shook her head. "This system was designed to penetrate bunkers. It shouldn’t—" The audio abruptly cleared, Richard’s voice coming through with unnatural clarity.

"—tracking you. Did you really think I wouldn’t know about your little insurance policy, Isabella? I’ve been monitoring your every move for years."

Christina froze, her fingers hovering over the tablet. "That’s... impossible. Unless..."

"Unless someone told him," Liam finished grimly.

The audio cut out again, replaced by a burst of static before a new voice emerged—not Richard’s or Isabella’s, but a synthesized one addressing them directly.

"Ms. Christina, Mr. Campbell —I see you’ve received our invitation. Please proceed to the main gate within the next five minutes. Any deviation, any attempt to call for backup, and Isabella Ashworth dies immediately. We’ve blocked all outgoing communications, so don’t waste your time trying."

The tablet screen flickered, then displayed a digital countdown: 5:00, 4:59, 4:58...

"It’s a trap," Liam stated the obvious, meeting Christina’s eyes.

She nodded, her expression grim. "And we’re walking right into it."

"Do we have a choice?" Liam asked quietly.

Christina reached beneath her seat, retrieving a small case. Inside was a compact handgun and two spare magazines. "Not if we want Isabella to live." She checked the weapon with practiced efficiency. "But they’re expecting two scared people following orders. Let’s give them something else."

Liam watched her, a new suspicion forming. "You came prepared for this. Almost like you knew."

Christina’s jaw tightened. "I didn’t know. But I’ve worked for Isabella long enough to understand that when things go wrong, they go catastrophically wrong." She handed him the tablet. "You navigate, I’ll drive. Any ideas on how to approach this?"

Liam studied the compound layout on the tablet. "They’ve jammed the tracker’s transmission, but the signal’s still active. They want us to think we’re surprising them, but they’re waiting for us."

"So what do we do?"

A slow smile spread across Liam’s face. "We give them exactly what they want—and then some." He pointed to a section of the perimeter on the map. "Start driving. I’ll explain on the way."

As Christina started the engine, Liam couldn’t shake the feeling that they were missing something crucial. Richard’s obsession with Isabella, Marcus’s betrayal, Christina’s convenient preparedness—the pieces still didn’t quite fit together.

But one thing was clear: time was running out.

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