Chapter 8: Too Outrageous

The air in the room froze for a second. That strange sensation that had just vanished swept back over her. Clara couldn't quite decipher it; her first instinct was that Quentin seemed angry. But she had no idea why.

She thought it over. Despite having an international look, Quentin’s thoughts and behaviors had always been rather conservative. Perhaps, to him, such words sounded too outrageous. After all, throughout Clara’s upbringing, Howard was always busy with work. As the eldest brother is like a father, Quentin’s role was equivalent to her second dad.

An unprompted guilt washed over Clara. Just then, Quentin asked again, "Is this how you greet everyone?"

"No, no, I was joking, Big Brother." Clara nudged the cookie toward his lips, saying breezily, "Why did you take it seriously?"

Quentin lowered his gaze, looking at her slender fingers holding the cookie to feed him. It was as if she didn't realize how intimate the gesture was. Just like how she had thrown herself into Zander’s arms the moment she walked in. She had no guard against them at all.

Quentin remained motionless for a long time. Just as his thin lips parted slightly, Clara playfully retracted the cookie and bit into it herself. Quentin was left hanging by her whim. The culprit, having committed the mischief, smiled and shifted the blame to him: "If you won't eat it, I guess I have to."

Clara brushed the crumbs off her fingertips and strolled toward the kitchen with her hands behind her back. "What is Mommy making today? I’m going to check."

Quentin took a deep breath, his eyes darkening as he watched her leave.

Heng entered from outside and whispered to Quentin, "The board meeting starts in ten minutes."

Quentin withdrew his gaze. "Understood." He turned and went upstairs to the study. Heng followed, turning on the large screen in the study’s conference area. On the screen was the round table of the group’s board of directors.

Before leaving, Howard had instructed Quentin that it was best if the two of them—father and son—did not appear at the board meeting at the same time. One in the light, one in the dark. After all, today’s board meeting was extraordinary. It was a liquidation meeting following the fallout of Clara’s incident.

The board had already begun listing the losses and impacts the incident had caused the group. The secretariat read out the loss assessments one by one. After they finished, the room fell silent for a few seconds before a middle-aged man leaning back in his seat spoke first. "Chairman, the losses this time are immense. Estimated losses in partnerships and future net profits exceed 5 billion per year. Everyone is laughing at us. How do you plan to handle this?"

Howard, sitting at the head of the table, calmly produced a stack of documents. "I am here today to inform the board. I will personally compensate the group for all profit losses in full. These are the compensation plans for the headquarters and subsidiaries. Please, take a look."

Howard’s blunt and straightforward opening caused those who had intended to cross-examine him to fall silent. Soon, however, they found their voice again. "Does the Chairman think this is a small matter? That just covering the deficit is enough?"

The middle-aged man took over, "Indeed. Whether those 5 billion in profits come from your assets or mine doesn't matter; we aren't short on that. But because of this, the group’s reputation has plummeted. Can the Chairman fill every future deficit caused by this?"

Howard’s voice was deep and steady. "Group deficits arise from many factors: economic downturns, industry bottlenecks, and internal incompetence. Third Brother, don't be so hasty. Before this incident occurred, the net profit of the subsidiary you manage dropped 23% last year compared to the year before." Howard looked at him. "I can take responsibility for my failings as Chairman. Can you take responsibility for the losses you caused?"

The man was Howard’s third brother—the uncle of Quentin and the others.

"I don't deny you're right, nor am I pursuing losses caused by other reasons," the man said leisurely, avoiding the topic. "It’s just that the Chairman is the party at fault in this matter..."

Howard interrupted him. "I know I am the party at fault. According to the company bylaws, I will be suspended from my duties starting tomorrow."

The room went dead silent. Howard Kun, who hadn't even finished speaking, remained with his mouth slightly agape. The others looked at him in disbelief.

"Isn't this your goal today?" Howard signaled the secretary to read out the disciplinary agreement he had prepared for himself.

Howard knew that being called to this meeting by the third brother meant that more than half of the seats were occupied by his brother's allies, who had agreed to take this chance to pull him down. Rather than letting them act, it was better to take the initiative and shoulder the responsibility. Then, he would delegate power to Quentin and push him up—a move of retreating to advance. This way, the family would still control the board's structure. As long as the position was secure, they could settle the score later.

Besides, Howard felt he was getting older and it was time to retire.

"The Chairman has committed a serious dereliction of duty, causing major losses to the group for personal reasons. In addition to compensating for company losses, he must be removed from certain directorships and group positions. The specific removals are as follows..."

The atmosphere in the conference room was tense. Everyone pricked up their ears, quickly identifying which pieces of information favored them. Aside from the secretary's voice, it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Howard’s voluntary surrender of power offered some benefits that satisfied part of the board. The only point of dissatisfaction was that the acting Chairman was to be Quentin. The father was simply being replaced by the son.

However, whether by shareholding or Quentin’s current status in the group, no fault could be found. They had no way to pull Quentin down along with him for the time being.

After the agreement was read, silence persisted. Howard gave them no chance to object. "If there are no other opinions, we will proceed with the board resolution process."

As Howard stood up to head home, Howard Kun felt that everything was too much under Howard's control. Unwilling to let him leave so easily, he suddenly spoke up, "The Chairman is very thoughtful and sincere. You’ve anticipated most of the solutions we discussed. There is only one more..."

"We are in unanimous agreement that you still need to make a public statement to clear the family name, maintain personal and group images, and mitigate group losses."

Howard vaguely sensed their intent, his words turning cold. "A public statement to clear the family name?"

"The public discourse surrounding Clara has caused severe damage to the group's image. Please sever all ties between the group and her. Make a clean public break. Clara’s group shares must be cleared and surrendered to the trust, and all businesses and real estate under her name must be reclaimed. She must no longer have any connection to the group’s funds or assets."

In a family business, half the board consisted of relatives. These words could be understood more simply: Kick Clara out of the house. In the future, even if the media reported on it, Clara would be Clara, and the Harrisons would be the Harrisons. She would have to bear all future negative impacts alone.

Howard laughed out of anger. "She is just a child." He thought that by taking the initiative to go this far, it would be enough for them to let Clara go. "You elders... when you saw her before, every one of you was so warm and affectionate."

"That’s because she was family and worth being close to. Is she now?"

Outside the screen, Quentin listened without a word, unconsciously turning the ring on his pinky.

By dinner time, Howard had not yet returned. Penelope made a call and told everyone not to wait for him. This sudden change made everyone sense something was wrong.

Clara couldn't help but ask, "What’s wrong?"

Quentin placed a bowl of taro ribs in front of her and took over the conversation. "Just company trivia."

Penelope added airily, "Isn't your dad always like this? Why, do you miss him?"

Clara scooped up some taro with her spoon. "I'm just asking after him since he was so intent on me coming back."

Opposite her, Zander suddenly laughed. "I thought you said you came back to see me."

Clara was momentarily scalded by the taro. She took a tissue to cover her mouth. "If he hadn't said you were back, I wouldn't have let him get his way so easily."

The dining table was large. Elliot sat next to Zander, saying idly in a voice only the two of them could hear, "Just listen when Clara coaxes you. You’re back to coax her, not to beg for treats like a puppy."

Zander raised his hand to pour water for Elliot. "Can't the food shut your mouth, Brother?"

Elliot didn't bother with him, picking up the glass before slamming it down with a "clatter." "F***." The brat poured him boiling water. Such a vengeful kid. Just a few words he didn't like, and he wanted to scald his mouth.

Nearby, Chloe keenly sensed the subtle atmosphere. She looked up at them, only to find everything appearing normal.

After dinner, Penelope called to Quentin, "Come here for a moment."

Quentin stopped. The others, knowing they likely had serious business to discuss, tactfully left. Zander asked Elliot to help him return the car. That left only Clara and Chloe to take the elevator back to their rooms together.

Chloe couldn't help but ask, "Those brothers of yours..."

Clara leaned in a bit, almost boastfully, "What do you think? They're all good people, right?" She didn't forget to praise herself, "Just like me."

Chloe narrowed her eyes. "You think they're 'good people'?"

"They’re your brothers too," Clara said easily. "You’ll slowly realize they’re very good people."

No. Chloe was a very perceptive person. She could clearly smell an unusual aura from those men. Each was more calculating than the last. Clara was completely different from them. Especially that eldest one, who seemed the most normal.

Clara got off the elevator and waved goodbye to Chloe. As she walked back to her room, the nannies and servants greeted her politely. The first two were fine, but as she went on, Clara realized the staff seemed to have been replaced. All the previous faces were gone.

Before she could think deeper, her thoughts were interrupted by a notification on her phone. She was on the trending "black list" again. Clara didn't understand; she wasn't a celebrity and didn't have rivals—why were there always these malicious trending topics?

The content was the same as before, but this time it accused her of bidding a high price for a box, calling her extravagant. Clara watched the screen for a while. Just as she exited the app, Cherry forwarded a message. It was a notification from the museum for an interview.

Clara suddenly went quiet. She sat at the kitchen island for a long time staring at the message. She felt a bit dazed, as if she had returned to that night years ago. The only difference was that she wasn't as terrified or anxious as before. She read the message a few more times and put her phone down. There was no outcome she couldn't accept now.

The next day, Clara woke up early, changed into a long dress suitable for an interview, and headed out. When she got into the car, Cherry was in the passenger seat, passionately arguing with internet trolls on her phone. She only put the phone away when she spotted Clara in the rearview mirror.

"Morning, bb." Clara handed Cherry a bag. Inside was a full breakfast set prepared by the Harrison's Michelin-starred chef, along with snacks and coffee. Being Clara’s assistant was relatively easy. Clara didn't have much going on; she only called when needed and gave her time off otherwise. On work days, Clara covered everything—food, clothing, housing, and transport—and always the best of the best.

Inspired, Cherry picked up her phone again and spent another five minutes battling the trolls on the trending list.

As Clara absent-mindedly touched up her makeup, she asked, "What’s the interview about today? Do you know?"

"An interview usually means the materials passed the audit, and they just want to chat about the next steps," Cherry comforted her. "Don't worry."

Clara didn't ask further. Instead, she took out two lipsticks and asked Cherry to help pick a color.

The car soon reached the back entrance of the museum. As Clara got out and walked inside, she realized her palms were covered in cold sweat. Strange. She didn't even care.

Two girls nearby saw Clara and nudged each other. "Is that a celebrity? Her silhouette looks so familiar." Hearing "celebrity," the companion quickly took two photos. "I can't see her face, but she looks like the one who played a Republic-era elite..." Before she could finish, Cherry stepped forward to interrupt. "Hello, please delete those photos."

Clara knocked on the door of the conference room. The curator’s voice came from inside: "Come in." Clara pushed the door open to find the curator wasn't alone. All the prominent leaders of the museum were there, sitting in a circle opposite her. Clara gave a simple greeting and sat down.

The curator put down her evaluation form. "An investigation was launched into your written test and interview. Congratulations, you have passed the review. However, before we retain your position, we need to gain a more comprehensive understanding of you through a deeper conversation."

Clara understood the protocol. "I understand."

About an hour later, Clara emerged from the room. The curator, perhaps wanting to ease the stiff atmosphere, softened her voice. "The artifact you donated—Mr. Yuan, the national appraisal expert from the capital, came specifically to appraise it. It is a thousand-year-old artifact that once held imperial seals. Its actual value is very high. Today is the first day of the exhibition. Would you like to see it?"

Clara heard the familiar name. "Mr. Yuan is here?"

The curator was a bit surprised. "You know him?"

Clara’s lips moved slightly. "I took his classes."

The curator understood and pointed her toward the exhibition hall before returning to work.

Clara walked alone through the empty, silent hallway. Amidst the echoes, her mind was filled with the words of the leaders from the meeting.

"As a cultural exhibition site, we do need public attention, but too much is a detriment. It cannot reach a level that affects the museum's normal operations or our internal research. The continuous reports and harassment over the past few days have had an unprecedented impact on the museum."

"Hiring you carries a certain risk. We know you are innocent in this matter and we recognize your professional ability. But we are not a court of law; it’s not enough to just know who is right or wrong. We need to evaluate our gains and losses. Especially as a cultural heritage protection unit, we need to ensure our own safety and stability."

"Rest for another month. Wait for this to blow over."

This month was for observing her. Clara knew. They hadn't mentioned her official induction yet. But being the center of public attention was never what she wanted.

The museum had just opened, so there weren't many people. Clara walked through the hall, her shadow reflected on the glass cases under the dim lights. She stopped in front of the rose quartz gold-painted dragon seal box and fell into a daze.

Until someone tapped her on the shoulder. Clara turned around.

Cynthia appeared behind her. "What a coincidence."

Clara was surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard my seal box was on display today, so I came to take a look." Cynthia looked at the artifact and its description through the glass, clicking her tongue. "It really is from the Tang Dynasty."

This repatriated artifact came from a Chinese collector. The auction house’s appraisal had claimed it was from the Ming or Qing dynasties. But at the time, seeing Clara keep bidding, Cynthia felt it had to be more.

Since she was a child, the things Clara liked were beautiful and expensive. At first glance, she liked the sky-high priced blue diamonds and the low-profile white jade paperweights in Howard’s study. Initially, people thought it was just a little girl’s love for beauty.

Until, when Clara was nine, Howard took her to an auction. She stared at a piece of ancient jade with very mixed colors. Howard, knowing she liked it, bid on it. Since no one else thought much of it, there was no competition. He bought it for 500,000. Later, it was discovered to be a two-thousand-year-old Jade Cong King. Its value exceeded a hundred million.

The value was a minor point; the incident brought an immense positive impact to the Harrison Group. After all, "vision" is a businessman's most important quality. At that time, everyone said the Harrison princess was their family's lucky star.

Cynthia couldn't help but say, "You spent so much to bid for it; why did you give it to the museum?"

"Just a greeting gift for the museum."

Cynthia sighed. "Because of it, were you cursed at online all day again?"

Clara didn't speak. She looked at the description below the exhibit, where there was a small line of text: [Donor: Clara].

On the way home, Clara reclined her seat and closed her eyes to rest. Once home, she asked casually, "Is Daddy back yet?"

The servant took her bag. "He's back. He’s in the study."

Clara perked up. "Then I’ll go see him."

"Wait, Miss."

Clara stopped and turned back to see an odd expression on the servant's face. The servant still managed a smile, trying not to let her notice. "The Master is still discussing serious business. Why don't you go rest first? We’ll call you when they’re finished."

Clara understood. "I see. Understood."

She turned and went upstairs. The elevator was deathly silent. She could almost hear her own heartbeat, getting faster and more intense. Her room was on the third floor, but she pressed the button for the second—where the study was.

Clara could guess that the business Howard had spent the whole day handling was related to her. Sure enough, before she even reached the study, she heard shouting.

It was the voice of her third brother, Zander. "Now you think she’s affecting the group’s reputation?" "When the group was using her for public interest and traffic, why didn't you think of clearing her shares, handing them to the trust, or kicking her out?"

Even though Clara was mentally prepared, it took her a long time to process what she had heard. The surroundings suddenly went silent, followed by a sudden swarm of tinnitus. All sounds around her became blurred. Only that phrase "kick her out" remained.

Zander’s voice continued, "And you? What are you thinking?"

Howard’s voice came through. "The board resolution—if more than half approve, the proposal passes. This isn't a matter of what I want."

"So you’ve tacitly allowed it?"

Howard had a headache. "If you really have an objection, please get the qualifications to vote on the board first, instead of saying useless things here."

"Then I’ll say something useful." "It doesn't matter if you kick her out. Whatever that group decides is fine." Zander had already made up his mind. "The moment you kick her out, I will give her all my shares, trust, and assets. And then I’ll leave this place with her forever."

Howard shouted sternly, "Nonsense!"

Clara was bothered by their shouting, the worsening tinnitus drowning out her senses. She couldn't quite hear what Howard was yelling at Zander. She turned around to leave, only to run into Quentin coming up from downstairs.

Clara averted her gaze and brushed past him, running down the stairs. Quentin stood there, feeling the ends of her hair graze his arm. From inside the room, he heard Howard's furious voice: "You think I don't want to give? How can I? And you? In what capacity would you give? What is your relationship? You aren't father and daughter, you aren't siblings, you aren't husband and wife—an unauthorized share transfer still requires a shareholder vote! If you dare defy the board’s resolution, they can take your shares too!"

Quentin looked up without expression. Behind his gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes reflected the dark, sunless corridor as he looked toward the study door at the end of the hall.

Amidst Howard's fury, Zander sounded abnormally calm. "Shall I give it a try?"

Outside, Quentin understood. They were thinking the same thing.