CHAPTER 71: A BRILLIANT IDEA

"Secretary Taylor, did Mr. Hilton really say that?"

"Of course, Old Mr. Trump," Alex replied with his usual polite smile. "If you want to meet with Mr. Hilton, you’ll have to wait until our Mrs. Hilton returns. Then, and only then, will he consider it."

Thomas’s expression darkened. He had already heard rumors—Morgan Group’s financial crisis had suddenly vanished, and the mysterious benefactor behind it was most likely Lucas himself.

He couldn’t quite figure out what that young man was playing at.

Turning back to glance at his grandson, he felt his blood pressure rise. Completely useless!

"Thank you, Secretary Taylor," Thomas finally said stiffly. "I’ll come back personally to apologize once Mrs. Hilton returns."

Straightening his old back with all the pride he had left, the elder Trump walked out of Hilton Tower.

"Grandpa... what do we do now?" Ethan asked cautiously.

"You still have the nerve to ask me that?" Thomas snapped, his voice shaking with fury. "It’s too late for ’what now’! I told you from the very beginning—Sophia is not someone to provoke. Did you listen? No! And now look where we are. Can’t you see how much Lucas cares about her?"

Ethan lowered his head, guilt and dread creeping up his spine. There was no way he could tell his grandfather what really happened that night at the hotel—if he did, he’d be lucky to keep his skin intact.

He could only swallow the humiliation in silence.

"Ethan," Thomas said sharply, "you’re going to City Y again."

"What? Why?"

"You don’t get it, but I do." The old man’s eyes narrowed. "Years ago, when Andrew had that affair, Sophia’s mother—Aurora—had a brother. Frank. He’s practically running Wright Family now. Sophia’s staying in City Y for a reason. She’s plotting something.

"Lucas might be powerful, but don’t forget—the Trumps are no pushovers. He refused to see me today? Fine. Let’s see how long the mighty Hilton Group can keep looking down on us!"

Thomas let out a cold laugh. He’d been fighting in the business world long before Lucas Hilton was even born. That boy still has milk on his breath, he thought bitterly. Let’s see who really runs this game.

...

City Y.

"Mommy, that was the fifth weird uncle already. We sent all of them to your overseas company—are you sure Daddy won’t notice?"

Every potential partner who came to meet Sophia had been subtly redirected—through a few gentle hints—into investing in her own foreign YL Group instead of Hilton’s.

Sophia lounged back on the couch while her third son, Charles, painted her nails. "Angela," she said lazily, "remember this—people who don’t look out for themselves get eaten alive. Your daddy has more money than he knows what to do with. Giving a few business contacts to my company? That’s just balance."

Angela tilted her head, not entirely sure she understood but smart enough to nod anyway.

"Mommy, why hasn’t Wright Family made a move yet?" Charles asked, carefully blowing on her freshly painted nails.

"The old man of the Wrights doesn’t even know what’s going on. And since I deliberately stayed behind, they’re bound to get nervous."

"Ohhh, I get it!" Dustin piped up, eyes bright. "Mommy, you’re baiting them—making them think you’re up to something so they’ll make a mistake. You’re basically leading the snake out of its hole!"

Sophia arched an eyebrow, amused. "My precious Dustin, you really does know a lot for your age."

Dustin’s cheeks flushed pink under her praise.

"Mommy, aren’t we giving them too much time, though?" Angela asked. "It’s been two days, and they still haven’t done anything."

Sophia nodded thoughtfully. "True. It’s slower than I expected—but that just means they’re being careful. The later they move, the more afraid they are. Lucas’s name still carries weight—his reputation alone keeps them guessing."

Angela leaned in close, whispering something into her mother’s ear.

Sophia paused, intrigued. "You think that’ll work?"

Angela smiled slyly. "Mommy, if the enemy won’t move, we move first. Shake the outside before we hit the inside."

Sophia’s lips curved into a proud, dangerous smile. "My brilliant girl... I love you all so much."

She kissed each of her six children in turn, her eyes glimmering with mischief and something far more dangerous—ambition.

Wright Group Headquarters — CEO’s Office

"Mr. Turner, I’m sorry... and thank you for all the trust and support the company has given me over the years."

Frank’s brows furrowed tightly. "Mateo, you’ve been with the company for years. You leaving now would cause a serious loss—do you understand that?"

"I do, Mr. Turner," Mateo said with a heavy sigh. "Everything I have today is thanks to your mentorship, and I’m truly grateful. But... I’m sorry. This is my resignation letter. Please accept it."

Frank stared at him in disbelief. Mateo had been one of Wright Group’s veterans—almost eight years in the company.

Why would he suddenly choose to leave now?

He wasn’t just a design genius; he was also a natural diplomat, one of the company’s strongest assets. Every major international collaboration practically depended on him.

Frank leaned forward, voice low. "Can I at least ask why?"

Mateo hesitated for a long moment, then spoke slowly. "Mr. Turner, to be honest... I’m not young anymore. I’m forty. I need a place where I can still grow. I’ve been here for eight years, but my salary barely changed. I know it wasn’t easy for me to reach this position, and I appreciate everything—but... I can’t lie to myself anymore."

He straightened his back, eyes calm. "You’ve always seen me as a designer who can handle diplomacy, but the truth is—what I love most is still design. Wright Group doesn’t give me that freedom. But someone else does. She respects my work, gives me genuine feedback, and makes me want to be better. I trust my choice is the right one."

Mateo gave a polite bow and walked out.

Frank stared down at the resignation letter on his desk, his mind still refusing to process it.

But Mateo’s departure was only the beginning.

Within five days, six of Wright Group’s most promising employees handed in their resignations.

The next morning, Eugene stormed into the office, face red with fury.

"What the hell is going on, Frank?! You’d better give me a damn explanation! Why did I have to hear from outsiders that half our senior staff just quit?!"

Frank’s headache pounded harder with every word.

"Dad, I—"

"Don’t call me Dad right now!" Eugene snapped, slamming his palm on the desk. "Tell me where those employees went! Why did they quit?!"

Old Mr. Wright was livid, trembling with anger. His loyal staff—people who had been with him for decades—suddenly walking away? Something was definitely wrong.

"Dad, please calm down," Frank said quickly. "It’s... complicated. Someone’s poaching from within the company."

Not just poaching—surgically removing key talent, one by one.

"Poaching?!" Eugene barked a laugh. "Those people are our core executives! Who could possibly poach them? They never left when I was in charge. But now? You take over, and suddenly everything’s falling apart! Tell me—how am I supposed to hold my head up in front of everyone?!"

His chest heaved, face flushing red. "Who? Who’s behind this?!"

Frank hesitated, his face dark. "...Dad... it’s Sophia."

Eugene froze, eyes widening in disbelief. "Who?! Sophia?!"