Chapter 351 - 228: Charles Mellon Calls GG
This only made the reporters more excited, and they started snapping a frenzy of photos of his face.
"Get back! Get back!"
His bodyguards roughly shoved the reporters aside, forming a shield around Charles as they bundled him into a Maybach.
The second before his bodyguards shoved him into the car, Charles grabbed the collar of the nearest reporter and roared, his eyes bloodshot, "What the hell is going on? What’s this about two sets of books?!"
Even as a bodyguard dragged him back, the reporter shouted excitedly, "It’s all over the internet! That supplier from Italy posted all of Onyx’s internal ledgers on Twitter!"
"All of New York is laughing at you, Mr. Mellon!"
SLAM!
The heavy car door slammed shut, completely cutting off the chaos outside.
Fack, fack, fack, fack, FACK!!
’What do you mean, all of New York is laughing at me??’
Charles Mellon woke his phone from sleep mode. When he saw the flood of notifications, he wanted to put a bullet in his own head.
"These idiots!" he snarled, immediately dialing Blake’s number. "Pick up the phone, you son of a bitch..."
But all he got was a busy signal.
"Fack!"
Charles Mellon slammed his phone against the cabin’s privacy partition.
’Why did this have to happen right now, of all times?’
Suddenly, the bodyguard’s voice came over the intercom.
"Mr. Mellon," he said, "Mr. Timothy Mellon is on the line. He says he tried calling you directly but you didn’t answer."
’It’s over.’
Charles Mellon collapsed into the back seat. He listlessly lowered the privacy screen. "Give me the phone."
The bodyguard and driver came into view. The bodyguard handed the phone to Charles Mellon.
"Hello, Dad," Charles Mellon said. "My phone was just—"
"Save the excuses," Timothy Mellon said. "Just get back here."
"Dad, that idiot Blake—"
"Shut up," Timothy Mellon cut him off. "I’ve already sent people to handle it. Onyx United Building will admit they set you up and take full responsibility. Everyone has agreed to this."
"But Dad," Charles Mellon asked reflexively, "I saw on the news that the total comes to over 2 billion USD. Are the public and the media really going to believe that?"
"I’m telling you, you really are an idiot," Timothy Mellon unleashed on Charlie. "The point isn’t whether they believe it or not. The point is that one side has to take the blame until the next news cycle begins."
Charles Mellon suddenly felt a surge of irritation. He was twenty-seven years old, yet here was his father, constantly interrupting and scolding him like a child—something that had rarely happened since he’d come of age.
"This has nothing to do with me!" he stressed. "This is their own damn mistake."
"Oh?" Timothy Mellon roared with laughter. "Are you telling me they also forced you to go behind my back, to steal from your own family, to take 100 million USD in kickbacks and project funds?"
Charles Mellon was suddenly speechless.
"You’re a hopeless idiot, Charlie. I regret only having you as a child," Timothy Mellon snorted. "You have no idea how much trouble you’ve caused for yourself, and for me."
The tires rolled over a Manhattan speed bump. Even with the Maybach’s top-of-the-line suspension, Charles Mellon’s stomach churned so violently he almost threw up.
"Dad, I..." As the numbness from the alcohol and drugs began to fade, Charlie’s head started to clear. "I’m sorry," he promised. "I’ll keep my head down from now on."
"Oh?" Timothy Mellon asked. "And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"
"You know," Charles Mellon mumbled, "the Manhattan Art Center... I’ll focus on it more, run it properly and all that—"
"Too late! Hahaha!" Timothy Mellon mocked his son. "The family’s internal risk and review committee is already on its way. They’ve taken over all accounting and legal authority for the Manhattan Art Center."
Charlie shot bolt upright, a tremor running through him. "They can’t do that! That’s my project!"
"You have the fucking nerve to call it your project?!" Timothy raged. "Do you have any idea what I had to sacrifice to keep you from being exiled, from being kicked out of the foundation entirely? I have to divert my own funds to clean up the mess you made! Your project?! What about me?"
Charles Mellon’s head spun. Just thirty minutes ago, he was fantasizing about becoming the Prince of New York. Now, he was nothing but a clown, a public laughingstock.
"Then... what about me?" Fear finally took hold of him, and tears welled in his eyes. "What’s going to happen to me?"
His hands suddenly started shaking uncontrollably, trembling like a leaf.
"Your punishment is simple," Timothy said coldly. "Effective immediately, you are stripped of your executive positions at the Manhattan Art Center and all properties under the family trust. Your signing authority and all high-level digital keys have been frozen. From now on, you will only receive the most basic monthly dividends and trust fund payments until this whole affair blows over."
"What about Grandfather? What did he say?"
’Charles Mellon felt as if he were in a free fall. Power was his aphrodisiac, his very lifeline. How was this any different from being castrated? All of his friends, his women... they would all leave him. And for what? One minor crisis?’