When Love is a Question Mark
Chapter 181: Secret Meeting

Chapter 181: Secret Meeting

Samuel tapped the pen against his desk, his brow furrowed as his thoughts raced. The board of directors’ behavior was unnatural. They were always quick to find fault or push back against his decisions. Now, they nodded along like obedient schoolchildren.

Raver Lucas, his uncle, was never this agreeable. He usually loved to sprinkle in "family advice" as a thinly veiled critique. Daren Farrell, the COO, had been surprisingly silent. The man who once prided himself on operational transparency now had little to say.

Even Bart Brendon and Billy Braham—opportunistic directors who never acted without ulterior motives—had offered no objections. Edward Jones, the sharp and outspoken real estate expert, had barely raised a question during their last meeting.

It wasn’t normal. Samuel leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepling in front of him. This wasn’t loyalty or alignment. It felt orchestrated, calculated.

"What are you all hiding?" he murmured, his voice low.

The last board meeting played in his mind. His proposal to streamline operations, a bold and potentially risky move, should’ve been met with at least some hesitation. Instead, the entire board had agreed unanimously. Their compliance felt wrong, like the calm before a storm.

A knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Come in," Samuel called, his tone sharper than intended.

Timmy entered, his phone clutched tightly. His expression was tense, hesitant. "Sir, there’s something you should know."

Samuel gestured for him to continue, his gaze narrowing.

"The board of directors..." Timmy started, pausing to glance at Samuel’s unreadable face. "They’re all meeting for lunch. Together. At the Grand Royale Restaurant."

Samuel frowned. "All of them? Together?"

"Yes, sir," Timmy confirmed. "They’re in a private dining room."

Samuel’s grip on the desk tightened. The board was rarely in sync during official meetings, let alone in private. Raver and Daren hardly ever saw eye to eye, and Bart and Billy wouldn’t bother socializing unless there was something in it for them.

"They’re plotting something," Samuel muttered, more to himself than Timmy.

Timmy shifted, unsure if he should speak. "Do you want me to investigate further?"

"Yes," Samuel said, his voice sharp and decisive. "Find out who arranged this and what they’re discussing."

Timmy nodded. "Understood, sir." He turned to leave but paused at the door. "Do you think... it could be something serious?"

Samuel’s jaw tightened, his expression unreadable. "That’s what I intend to find out."

---

Timmy returned after some time, his face taut with urgency.

"It’s confirmed, sir," he said as he entered Samuel’s office. "The entire board is gathered at the Grand Royale Restaurant. Private dining room."

Samuel rose from his chair, his movements deliberate. He adjusted his suit jacket and glanced at Timmy.

"Let’s go," he said, his tone cold.

Timmy hesitated. "You’re going there yourself?"

Samuel’s gaze was sharp. "If they’re scheming, I want to know now."

---

The ride to the Grand Royale was tense. Samuel sat in silence, staring out the window, his thoughts a storm of suspicion. Timmy occasionally glanced at him in the rearview mirror but wisely kept his mouth shut.

When they arrived, Samuel strode into the restaurant, his presence commanding. The hostess looked startled as he approached.

"Private dining room," Samuel said curtly.

The hostess fumbled with the reservation list. "Uh, yes, sir. Down the hall, to the left."

Samuel didn’t wait for further explanation. His footsteps echoed through the quiet corridor, each step calculated. Timmy trailed behind him, silent but alert.

As they neared the door, the muffled sound of voices reached them. Samuel raised a hand, signaling Timmy to stop.

Samuel’s hand lingered on the door handle as their voices spilled through the cracks, sharp and conspiratorial.

"...If we don’t act now, we’ll lose control," Raver’s firm voice cut through the air.

"We need to be careful," Edward added, his tone measured.

"What happens if Samuel finds out?" Daren’s whisper was barely audible but loaded with tension.

"He won’t, not until it’s too late," Bart said, followed by a low chuckle.

Billy chimed in, his voice smug. "Exactly. Let’s keep it that way until everything’s finalized."

Samuel’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling into a fist. Whatever they were plotting, they weren’t trying hard to keep it a secret. Their brazenness made his blood boil.

Timmy stepped closer, his voice cautious. "Sir, should we wait and—"

"No," Samuel cut him off sharply, straightening his posture. "I’m done waiting."

With one smooth motion, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room fell silent as Samuel entered, his gaze sweeping over the table. The directors froze mid-conversation, their faces a mix of surprise and unease. Plates of untouched food and glasses of wine were scattered across the table, but all attention was now on him.

"Don’t let me interrupt," Samuel said coolly, his voice low but commanding. "By all means, continue."

Raver was the first to recover, leaning back in his chair with forced nonchalance. "Samuel, what brings you here? Thought you’d be busy at the office."

Samuel ignored the attempt at deflection, his eyes narrowing. "Funny, I could ask the same of you. All of you."

The tension in the room was palpable. Bart and Billy exchanged uneasy glances, while Edward straightened his tie, clearly uncomfortable. Daren avoided Samuel’s gaze entirely, staring down at his half-empty plate.

Samuel took a step closer, his presence filling the room. "You’ve been quiet lately. Too quiet. Then I hear you’re all meeting behind my back."

"It’s just lunch," Bart said with a nervous chuckle. "No big deal."

Samuel’s glare pinned him in place. "You don’t all get together for ’just lunch.’ You’ve never agreed on anything, let alone a dining reservation."

Raver shifted in his seat, his expression hardening. "We don’t need your permission to meet outside the office, Samuel."

Samuel’s gaze flicked to his uncle. "No, you don’t. But when the board that’s supposed to support me suddenly acts like a secret club, I have every right to question it."

He stepped to the head of the table, his tone sharper now. "So, I’ll make this simple. Start talking. Now."