Chapter 182: Chapter 182: The Art of Negotiation

Dahlia Thorne appeared momentarily taken aback, as if she had not anticipated such a sharp retort from Julian Sterling. For a fleeting second, the carefully constructed mask of composure slipped, revealing a flash of genuine astonishment beneath the veneer. She stared blankly, her mind racing to process the audacity of the remark, before she regained her footing. A sharp, crystalline laugh bubbled up from her throat, breaking the momentary tension.

“It is no wonder that Mr. Caldwell sees no need to keep secrets from you.” she remarked, her voice dripping with a newfound appreciation that bordered on mockery: “It takes a clever mind to recognize another. You are an intelligent man, Mr. Sterling, and evidently, the partner standing beside you is equally astute. It truly begs the question, why on earth would the Sterling family push away a son with such capable instincts, only to clutch onto a useless, foolish heir?”

As she spoke, her eyes darted toward Julian, her gaze sharpening into something predatory. It was a look akin to a blade sliding across his face, assessing not just his appearance but the very mettle of the adversary sitting across from her. It was a re-evaluation, a recalibration of her strategy. Having made her observation, she slowly lowered her head, turning her attention to her own hands. She studied her manicured nails, which were painted to perfection, and with an air of languid indifference, she flicked her finger twice as if brushing away an invisible speck of dust,or perhaps, a trivial annoyance.

“Are you implying.” She began, her tone casual yet laced with danger: “That CORE is the hand pulling the strings behind all of this?”

“And if it is them, what of it? If it isn’t, what difference does it make?” Her voice dropped an octave, devoid of any warmth: “It has nothing to do with me. My only concern, the only thing that holds any weight in my world, is the final result.”

The sheer coldness embedded in her words sent a chill cascading down Julian Sterling’s spine. It was not the aloofness one might expect from a stranger, nor the social distance of the elite. It was a profound, terrifying indifference. It was a callousness that disregarded human life and treated dark, twisting conspiracies as mundane necessities. In that flat, emotionless tone, one could find no trace of humanity, no flicker of warmth or hesitation. It seemed as though Dahlia Thorne had completely severed ties with whatever benevolent nature she might have once possessed, leaving behind only a shell filled with terrifying, pragmatic calculation.

“Come now, Mr. Sterling, do not look so tense.”

The woman was evidently a master of observation. Even the slightest shift in Julian’s expression, the minutest tightening of his jaw, was immediately cataloged and analyzed by her sharp eyes. Perhaps because she had already laid her cards on the table, burning the bridge of retreat, she no longer felt the need to exhaust herself maintaining a facade of innocence.

“You yourself grew up in this glitzy, treacherous world of the upper crust.” She continued, her voice taking on a lecturing, almost patronizing quality: “This is a world paved with gold but riddled with traps. Surely you understand the silent, murky toxicity of it all? The law of the jungle, the big fish eating the small fish, is the only law that matters here. In this environment, compassion is the most expensive luxury, one that none of us can afford.”

She paused, her eyes flashing: “Do not look at me with such judgment, as if I am some bloodless monster devoid of conscience. At the very least, I am exacting revenge for my family. My motives are clear, and my cause is righteous.”

Having said her piece, Dahlia comfortably reclined against the back of her chair. She crossed her arms over her chest, her fingers drumming rhythmically against her arm in a calculated tempo. Her entire posture had shifted. Gone was the air of a supplicant; in its place sat a confident negotiator, a predator in a position of power. She was no longer the woman who needed to offer “sincerity” to beg for assistance, but an equal proposing a partnership, looking to dominate the conversation.

“In any case, Mr. Caldwell is well aware of my origins. My background is no secret to you, so let us dispense with the pleasantries and speak plainly. It saves us both the time of dancing around the subject.” She declared: “I want to handle Gabriel Cole. As for the specific methods I intend to use, I am not at liberty to disclose the details at this moment. However, I can assist the two of you in dragging him down, pulling him from his high pedestal of fame and power. This includes the annihilation of Cedric Harrington and the complete collapse of the Harrington family. Consider that a complimentary bonus, a free gift included to demonstrate my goodwill.”

“In reality, you merely require a legitimate pretext to validate your capabilities and resources in the eyes of the public.” Ethan Caldwell replied. His expression remained utterly impassive, his deep, abyssal eyes seeming to pierce straight through her defenses to the core of her intent. He struck directly at the heart of the matter: “You do not wish for the hidden powerhouse families to suspect you are an operative of CORE, lest you invite disaster upon yourself. Therefore, the truth of the situation is that you need to borrow our hands to mask your tracks. You need us, it is not we who need your help.”

“Oh, come on, why split hairs like that?” Dahlia waved a hand dismissively: “When you strip it all down, it amounts to the same thing. Let us simply call it a mutually beneficial cooperation. We each achieve our own objectives.”

“But why us?” Julian Sterling frowned, unable to suppress the question that had been gnawing at him. He needed to clarify the suspicion taking root in his mind: “If your sole objective is to deal with Gabriel Cole, surely Cedric Harrington is a far more suitable pawn? He is desperate for power, blinded by ambition, and infinitely easier to manipulate than us.”

It was a logical deduction. A man who believed himself to be the mastermind, manipulating events from behind the curtain, would be absolutely incensed if he discovered he was merely a cow being led by the nose, his pride shattered. Approaching Ethan Caldwell was an incredibly risky gambit, a move that had led to her identity as a CORE associate being exposed right here and now.

Compared to that, feigning a relationship with Gabriel Cole to find a weakness, then approaching Cedric Harrington to use him as a weapon against Gabriel under the guise of family vengeance, would have been the safer play. That plan would have been seamless, airtight, and would have guaranteed the safety of her cover far more effectively than a direct confrontation with a man like Ethan Caldwell ever could.

“Pfft, Cedric?”

Upon hearing that name, Dahlia Thorne could not contain a sound of pure, unadulterated derision. A sharp, mocking laugh escaped her, piercing the quiet of the room. The contempt in her tone was palpable, cheapening the very name she spoke.

“A useless waste of space.” She sneered, her lip curling: “His talent is limited, yet he parades around believing himself to be an unparalleled genius. And it isn’t just him, that entire gaggle of Harringtons is cut from the same cloth. They are the textbook definition of frogs trapped at the bottom of a well, staring up at a patch of sky and believing it to be the entire universe. Consider their lineage. It wasn’t until the era of Cedric’s grandfather, Harold Harrington, that they managed to claw their way out of mediocrity and make a name for themselves. Even though Helios Technologies possesses a certain reputation in the current market, let’s be honest about its nature, it is nothing more than an average technology firm. Viewed from the perspective of this small, provincial St. Lawrence City, perhaps it seems valuable, perhaps people laud it. But compare it to the national scale? Compare it to the true titans, the colossal conglomerates in the major metropolises? It is nothing. It isn’t even a nail. It is a mere speck of sand in a vast desert.”

Her voice grew harder, filled with scorn: “The Harrington family, with their meager, pathetic strength, actually harbors delusions of overthrowing the official heir, the man who holds the lifeblood of the Cole family? They are not even qualified to dream such a fantastical dream, let alone achieve it.”

She paused there, propping her chin on her hand, her eyes narrowing into slits as she looked at Ethan Caldwell with profound meaning.

“Mr. Caldwell, however, is different. Your class, your caliber, is not on the same atmospheric layer as those people. After all, you are a man who has heard the thunderous reputation of CORE. As I said, CORE places a high value on talent and has always desired to invite you into the fold. You are well aware of our strict operational principles. Therefore, whether I expose my identity to you or not is ultimately inconsequential to me, because sooner or later, our paths were destined to cross. We were bound to have contact.”

“Therefore…” Julian Sterling paused, his mind working rapidly to thread the beads of information together. He synthesized the events, the motives, and the timing. When he spoke again, his voice was sharper, infused with the weight of absolute certainty: “From the very beginning, you intentionally leaked the information regarding Gabriel Cole’s transfer. You deliberately left traces, a trail of breadcrumbs, specifically so that our people would take the initiative to find you.”

Dahlia Thorne, sitting opposite them, slowly brought her hands together. She clapped twice, a slow, rhythmic applause. Her eyebrows arched slightly in acknowledgment.

“Clever.”

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