Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back - Chapter 110: Chapter 110
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Adaline stared at her, stunned; even after kneeling, forgiveness was denied.
Equally shocked, Julian clamped his jaw, strode forward, and hauled his mother back to her feet.
"Elena Bennett, I never thought you'd grow this cold! You're a Bennett too. What good does it do you if the company collapses? How can you be so heartless?" he snapped.
Elena's face remained blank. "If my dear brother were really sensible, we wouldn't be standing in this mess—would we?" she countered.
"You—Elena Bennett, you're outrageous!" Julian burst out.
Holding Julian back, Adaline met Elena's gaze with eerie calm. "Refuse to forgive us if you must, but remember—you still need favors from us. Don't burn the bridge completely," she warned.
Elena frowned. "Is that a threat?"
Adaline replied, "Think it over. I've treated you as my daughter, yet you no longer see us as family. Walking away from us won't be that easy."
Because Simon was present, they spoke in code, yet Elena understood perfectly: unless she helped, they would never hand over the household registration booklet—ever.
A bitter laugh escaped her. Voice glacial, she enunciated, "I will never forgive you."
Adaline's expression darkened. "Elena, what good outcome do you expect from this?"
Elena clenched the blanket until her knuckles whitened, hatred spilling from the corners of her eyes as she glared at mother and son.
"You may leave, Adaline," Simon's voice rumbled up from the abyss, low and threatening.
Adaline cast him a glance, then looked back at Elena, her gaze conflicted.
"If you have time to threaten your own daughter, you'd do better to go home and find a real solution," Simon added.
Pressing her lips together, Adaline said nothing more and left with Julian.
Within days Bennett Corporation's sales plummeted; mountains of unsold goods clogged the warehouse, and many employees had quit, leaving only a few aging managers biding their time.
These veterans each held a token position; too old to start over elsewhere, they clung to Bennett Corporation for a paycheck.
In recent days everyone had scrambled to move inventory. With no distributors willing to touch their products, they were forced into street-level promotions.
But the gray-haired cadre couldn't swallow their pride; two full days of sidewalk pitches yielded nothing.
At last Julian had to step in personally, setting up a booth downtown in bustling Riverton to hawk their wares.
Whitmore Group Headquarters.
Seated on the leather sofa before floor-to-ceiling windows, Simon exhaled smoke and watched Julian below, bowing and scraping as he peddled products in the plaza.
His fingers tapped a steady rhythm on his thigh; now and then he lifted the cigarette for another drag.
Without looking away, Simon asked Assistant Brian, "How long has President Bennett been out there, and how many customers has he snagged?"
"Two hours—no fewer than twenty customers," Brian answered.
Simon narrowed his eyes. "That's going a little too smoothly."
"I understand, sir. I'll arrange for someone to give him a lesson," Brian said, bowing out.
Plaza.
Just as Julian was celebrating the day's haul, a handful of street punks swaggered toward him.
Equally shocked, Julian clamped his jaw, strode forward, and hauled his mother back to her feet.
"Elena Bennett, I never thought you'd grow this cold! You're a Bennett too. What good does it do you if the company collapses? How can you be so heartless?" he snapped.
Elena's face remained blank. "If my dear brother were really sensible, we wouldn't be standing in this mess—would we?" she countered.
"You—Elena Bennett, you're outrageous!" Julian burst out.
Holding Julian back, Adaline met Elena's gaze with eerie calm. "Refuse to forgive us if you must, but remember—you still need favors from us. Don't burn the bridge completely," she warned.
Elena frowned. "Is that a threat?"
Adaline replied, "Think it over. I've treated you as my daughter, yet you no longer see us as family. Walking away from us won't be that easy."
Because Simon was present, they spoke in code, yet Elena understood perfectly: unless she helped, they would never hand over the household registration booklet—ever.
A bitter laugh escaped her. Voice glacial, she enunciated, "I will never forgive you."
Adaline's expression darkened. "Elena, what good outcome do you expect from this?"
Elena clenched the blanket until her knuckles whitened, hatred spilling from the corners of her eyes as she glared at mother and son.
"You may leave, Adaline," Simon's voice rumbled up from the abyss, low and threatening.
Adaline cast him a glance, then looked back at Elena, her gaze conflicted.
"If you have time to threaten your own daughter, you'd do better to go home and find a real solution," Simon added.
Pressing her lips together, Adaline said nothing more and left with Julian.
Within days Bennett Corporation's sales plummeted; mountains of unsold goods clogged the warehouse, and many employees had quit, leaving only a few aging managers biding their time.
These veterans each held a token position; too old to start over elsewhere, they clung to Bennett Corporation for a paycheck.
In recent days everyone had scrambled to move inventory. With no distributors willing to touch their products, they were forced into street-level promotions.
But the gray-haired cadre couldn't swallow their pride; two full days of sidewalk pitches yielded nothing.
At last Julian had to step in personally, setting up a booth downtown in bustling Riverton to hawk their wares.
Whitmore Group Headquarters.
Seated on the leather sofa before floor-to-ceiling windows, Simon exhaled smoke and watched Julian below, bowing and scraping as he peddled products in the plaza.
His fingers tapped a steady rhythm on his thigh; now and then he lifted the cigarette for another drag.
Without looking away, Simon asked Assistant Brian, "How long has President Bennett been out there, and how many customers has he snagged?"
"Two hours—no fewer than twenty customers," Brian answered.
Simon narrowed his eyes. "That's going a little too smoothly."
"I understand, sir. I'll arrange for someone to give him a lesson," Brian said, bowing out.
Plaza.
Just as Julian was celebrating the day's haul, a handful of street punks swaggered toward him.
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