Chapter 160:


    “Are you sure he’s there?” Ellyn asked from the seat beside her, clutching her purse with trembling hands. “Taking Effie to that old house — it’s cruel, Isolde. It’s a message.”


    “He’s cornered,” Isolde said, her eyes fixed on the blur of the city beyond the window. “SkyLine’s stock is in freefall since the DOD contract went public. The board is demanding answers. He thinks holding Effie gives him leverage.”


    “Leverage for what?” Ellyn whispered. “Orbital owns Carson Dynamics now. The Phoenix-X7 is your IP. He has nothing left to take.”


    “He wants to take my name,” Isolde said, her voice dropping to a low growl. “He wants to salvage his reputation at the Aerospace Summit next week. And he’s willing to use our daughter to do it.”


    The car pulled to the curb in front of a modest two-story brick house. It looked smaller than she remembered, and sadder — a fortress built entirely of bad memories.


    They walked up the cracked pathway. Isolde wore her navy zer draped over her shoulders to conceal the bulk of the cast. Ellyn moved beside her like a trapped bird, her eyes darting across the overgrown yard.


    The front door was unlocked. Isolde pushed it open.


    Grayson was sitting on the lumpy beige sofa they had bought at IKEA six years ago. He had removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. A mug of what smelled like instant coffee sat on the bare table beside him.


    He looked up as she entered. The room was stale, smelling of dust and desperation.


    “You came,” he said. No triumph in his voice — just a t statement of fact.


    “Where is she?” Isolde demanded.


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    “Upstairs,” Grayson said, gesturing with his mug. “Sleeping. She was tired.”


    “You have no right,” Isolde said, stepping further into the room. “The custody agreement is clear. No unscheduled visits without my consent.”


    “We need to talk,” Grayson said, ignoring her. “About the Summit.”


    “There’s nothing to talk about,” Isolde said. “You lost. It’s over.”


    “It’s not over until I say it is,” he replied, his eyes hardening. “SkyLine is still a major yer, and we are unveiling a prototype.”


    “An illegal, non-functional prototype based on stolen IP,” Isolde corrected him.


    “The world doesn’t know that,” Grayson said. “They see the name Lancaster. But they also see the name Carson associated with Orbital. It’s messy. I’m here to offer a way to clean it up.”


    He wanted a truce. No — he wanted a surrender. And he had brought their daughter into the line of fire to get it.


    The old house was a silent tomb. The only sounds were the rhythmic drip of a leaky kitchen faucet and the faint hum of the ancient refrigerator — a stark contrast to the storm gathering in the living room.


    “Let me see her,” Isolde demanded, her voice low and dangerous.


    Grayson hesitated, then nodded. “Effie! Come say hello to Mommy!”


    A small figure appeared at the top of the stairs, clutching a worn-out teddy bear. Her eyes were puffy — from sleep, or perhaps from crying.


    “Mommy?” Effie’s voice was barely a whisper.


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