The Billionaire's Dangerous Redemption (by Claire Winters) novel Chapter 131

131 A Vengeful Gift

Hazel’s POV

The sleek corporate building of Shaw Enterprises reflected the afternoon sun as my car pulled up to the curb. My father’s new venture stood tall and gleaming-built on lies, tax evasion, and my potential imprisonment.

“Wait here,” I instructed the driver, stepping out with my security team flanking me.

The lobby buzzed with activity. Employees in crisp suits hurried past, none giving me a second glance. They didn’t recognize the daughter of the man who owned this place. The forgotten heir.

“Ms. Shaw,” the receptionist greeted me with a plastic smile. “Do you have an appointment?”

“I called ahead,” I replied coolly. “Harold Shaw is expecting me.”

She checked her computer. “Ah, yes. Fifteenth floor.”

I turned to my security team. “Wait by the elevator. I’ll handle this alone.”

The tallest guard frowned. “Ms. Shaw, we were instructed to—”

“I know,” I cut him off. “But this is between me and my father. I’ll call if I need you.”

The elevator ride up was silent. My reflection stared back at me from the polished doors-composed, cold, calculated. Nothing like the broken woman who’d once sobbed in her wedding dress.

The doors opened to a spacious reception area. Before announcing myself, I heard raised voices coming from behind the partially open door of the main office.

“-don’t care what you have to do. Just make sure that ungrateful bitch pays for what she did to my daughter!” Tanya’s shrill voice carried clearly.

I froze, then quietly moved closer.

“Keep your voice down,” my father hissed. “Someone might hear you.”

“Who cares?” Tanya spat. “Everyone knows how I feel about her. If I had my way, she’d

be dead instead of my Ivy.”

I slipped my phone from my purse, opened the recording app, and pressed start.

“That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?” My father’s tone was more annoyed than

concerned.

“Extreme? She let my daughter die! She had the same blood type. She could have helped!”

“Ivy refused her help, remember? Besides, we got what we wanted. The tax fraud is in Hazel’s name now. She’ll either go bankrupt paying it off or go to prison.” His chuckle made my blood boil. “Either way, she’s ruined.”

“It’s not enough,” Tanya insisted. “I want that company of hers. Evening Gala should have been Ivy’s.”

“And we’ll get it,” my father soothed. “Once she’s desperate enough, she’ll sign anything to avoid prison.”

I’d heard enough. Slipping my phone back into my purse, I pushed the door fully open.

“Hello, Father. Tanya.” My voice was ice. “Planning my downfall without me? How rude.”

They both jumped. Tanya’s face twisted with naked hatred while my father quickly rearranged his features into faux concern.

“Hazel! We were just—”

“Wishing me dead?” I cut him off. “Planning to steal my company? Yes, I heard.”

Tanya lunged forward, hand raised to slap me. I caught her wrist mid-air, squeezing just enough to make her wince.

“Try it,” I warned quietly. “I have four security guards outside who would love to escort you out-through the window.”

“You little-”

“Tanya,” my father intervened sharply. “Sit down.” He turned to me with a strained smile. “Hazel, what a surprise. I thought we were meeting later.”

“I decided not to wait.” I released Tanya’s wrist and stepped further into the office. “Your scheme is falling apart faster than you anticipated.”

My father’s smile faltered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The tax fraud. Transferring ownership to me through Ivy. Ring any bells?”

Tanya’s face paled slightly, but my father maintained his composure.

“Those are serious accusations, Hazel. I hope you have proof before throwing around

such claims.”

I smiled thinly. “Oh, I have more than you think.”

Moving to one of the leather chairs opposite his desk, I sat down smoothly, crossing my legs. My calmness clearly unnerved them both.

“I brought you a gift,” I said, patting my purse. “Something to commemorate our

reunion.”

My father frowned, confused by my demeanor. He’d expected tears, panic, or desperate pleading. Instead, he faced a woman who matched his coldness with her

own.

“What game are you playing?” he demanded.

“No game. Just evening the score.” I leaned forward slightly. “I think we should discuss the terms of you turning yourself in.”

My father burst into laughter-a harsh, mocking sound. “Turn myself in? You’ve lost your mind.”

“Have I?” I raised an eyebrow. “The authorities are quite interested in who actually orchestrated the tax fraud. Especially since the signatures on those documents don’t

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