Karma Doesn’t Sleep: The Revenge Queen Rises novel Chapter 85

Clive was weaving through city traffic, headed straight for the Salmeron estate. His suit jacket was crumpled in the back seat, and his phone kept buzzing nonstop in his pocket, but he ignored it.

As soon as he walked into the foyer, he spotted Klaus Bailey first thing. Bailey was sunk deep into the living room couch, face like thunder, a fat cigar clenched between his fingers. The ashtray in front of him was overflowing with gray ash.

Bailey had his phone pressed to his ear, his expression growing darker with every second.

“Mr. Petersen, the contracts are already finalized. What’s this about backing out now?” His voice was rough and low.

“Bailey, I’m sorry, but if I keep working with you, my company’s stock will be the next to crash! I can’t risk it!”

Petersen hung up before Bailey could say another word.

Bailey’s jaw clenched. He dialed back, but no one answered.

“That backstabbing old bastard!” Bailey spat, slamming his fist on the table. The veins in his forehead stood out, his anger barely contained.

Clive watched all this, worry etched on his face. He poured a cup of tea and set it in front of Bailey.

“Dad, I’ve already reached out to my contacts. We’ll have answers soon. I want to see who’s bold enough to come after the Salmerons.”

The Cloudcrest Group had been built from the ground up by Bailey’s father. He had four kids—three sons and a daughter—and every one of them was ambitious as hell. Bailey might have been the oldest, but he wasn’t the sole heir. The siblings all owned shares, and the family fights could get vicious.

Bailey knew better than to put all his trust in one place. Alongside his role at Cloudcrest, he’d started two private companies on his own. Both had done well. Last year, he even got them listed, with a combined market value close to a billion. That was Bailey’s safety net.

But today, both companies were in crisis. Orders canceled, contracts dissolved, partnerships falling through. As the market neared closing time, the stocks were in free fall. In just two hours, Bailey had lost five hundred million.

No way was this a coincidence. Someone was targeting the Salmerons, and doing it with precision.

Bailey crushed his cigar into the ashtray, his eyes sharp and cold.

To pull something like this off in a single day—there weren’t many in North Olympic who could manage it.

His assistants were huddled in the corner, sweating as they watched the stock tickers and breaking news.

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