THE DISABLED HEIRESS, MY EX-HUSBAND WOULD PAY DEARLY.
Chapter 19

Chapter 19: Chapter 19

At that moment, without wasting a second, James leaned slightly forward on the table and glanced around at the men sitting with him. His eyes, sharp and focused now, moved from one familiar face to another. The room had fallen into a thoughtful silence, the kind of silence that comes just before decisions are made—serious decisions.

James adjusted his cufflinks slowly, a smile still tugging at the corners of his lips. Then, with a calm and deliberate voice, he finally spoke.

"Well," he began, his tone laced with gratitude and pride, "since you were the first ones to call me after what happened back there... since you didn’t waste time, didn’t hesitate, and didn’t laugh behind my back like most people probably are doing right now... I’ll say this."

He looked directly at Bartholomew Ainsley as he continued.

"You reached out to me, you invited me to your table, and you still saw value in me even when everyone else thought I had already lost. That matters. I won’t forget that."

A few of the men nodded, some even relaxed a little in their chairs, realizing the weight behind those words.

James then leaned back again, folding his arms with a look of renewed authority.

"So," he continued, "when the Victor contract finally gets announced... if I am the one who gets it, which I still believe I will... I’ll make sure I work with you. I’ll see what I can do. Not just for me but for you too. I don’t believe in walking alone when those who stood with me in the storm still remain."

There was a brief pause, then James gave a smirk.

"Of course, it shouldn’t be all about me. That’s not how partnerships are built, right?" He chuckled lightly, a sound filled with charm and new confidence.

"So... what kind of business do you want to discuss with me?"

At that moment, Bartholomew Ainsley straightened in his chair and cleared his throat, preparing to address everyone at the table. His fingers lightly tapped against the polished surface as the room fell silent once more, every eye focused on him.

"Well," he began, his voice deep and commanding, "we all know this contract from the Victors isn’t just another opportunity—it’s a once-in-a-decade kind of deal. The numbers we’re talking about here are massive. We’re not just discussing expansion; we’re talking about transformation—for any company that holds it."

The men nodded quietly, and James leaned in, clearly interested.

"So, we’re just going to go straight to the point," Bartholomew continued, folding his hands together with precision, the air around him tightening as if something significant was about to be unveiled. "We—"

Suddenly, the sharp chime of his phone pierced the moment.

Bartholomew’s eyes flicked down to the device, irritation flashing in them for a split second. He was never interrupted during meetings, especially one like this. But then, upon seeing the caller ID, his expression subtly shifted. It was his personal secretary.

The fact that his secretary was calling him now—after clear instructions not to—meant only one thing.

Something was wrong.

Bartholomew hesitated. He looked at the others, then back at the phone, and finally at James, giving a subtle nod as if to say forgive the break.

"I never take calls during meetings," he muttered under his breath, "but this..."

Without another word, he answered the phone and placed it to his ear, his tone professional but cautious.

"Speak," he said calmly, masking the tension in the room that had suddenly thickened.

At that moment, when Bartholomew answered the call, he didn’t even wait for pleasantries. His voice was sharp and low. "I’m in a meeting—"

But before he could finish his sentence, his secretary cut him off, his tone shaky and urgent.

"Sir... there is fire. There is big trouble!"

Bartholomew narrowed his eyes. "What nonsense are you—"

"Sir!" the secretary cried. "Have you not seen the news? We’ve just been blacklisted by the Victor family. Your name... it’s on the list. Five names were announced by the Victor Group moments ago—and yours was among them."

Bartholomew froze.

The room seemed to still around him, as if time itself had paused.

The secretary’s voice pressed on, panicked. "And it’s not just the Victor family. Global Investments also issued a joint statement. They’ve blacklisted the same five individuals. Sir... the loan you secured last quarter? They’ve canceled it. Effective immediately."

Bartholomew felt a sudden chill crawl up his spine. "What...?"

The others at the table were watching him now, noticing his face drain of color.

"What nonsense are you talking about?" he barked at the phone as he shot up from his seat. His chair screeched behind him. "What do you mean blacklist? That’s impossible!"

But his voice cracked—just a little.

The weight of the moment was starting to sink in. His breathing became shallow as he turned to the side wall where the mounted screen rested. With trembling fingers, he snatched the remote and pressed the power button.

The screen flickered to life, For a second, nothing happened. Just a soft hum and the startup logo.

Then—Breaking News plastered across the screen in bold red letters.

A female news anchor, clearly reading from a prompt, looked solemn.

"We interrupt this program with an urgent financial bulletin. The Victor family, in collaboration with Global Investments, has released a blacklist of five individuals and companies banned from further business relations, contracts, or financial engagements effective immediately."

On the screen, five names began scrolling. Each name was accompanied by company logos, photos, and registration numbers.

The second name to appear...Bartholomew Ainsley – Ainsley Holdings

The room went deathly quiet.

Bartholomew staggered backward, gripping the edge of the table. "No... no, this has to be a mistake."

But the next names that followed turned every head in the room cold.

Every man seated at the table.

All of them, all five present in the room.

James’ mouth dropped open. He looked from the screen to the men around him, his own heart beginning to race.

The air turned suffocating.

Bartholomew’s lips trembled. "This... this can’t be happening."

Richard Halley fell back into his seat like his knees gave way beneath him. Gideon Blythe gripped the back of his chair to steady himself. Alfred Crowley rubbed his chest like he couldn’t breathe properly.

Nobody spoke.

They just stared—stared at each other in disbelief, in confusion, in silent horror—trying to understand what was going on.

Some of them couldn’t even stand again. They were just falling to their seats, while some of them were using the chair for support.