Page 272 of Billion-Dollar Attitudes

It was at this moment, amid the mundane talk of financial forecasting and future market trends, that the universe decided to add another twist to our tale. Guy, grappling with the digital maze of corporate Excel sheets, happened upon a ghost from our past.

"Hey, guys, check this out," Guy called out, his discovery suddenly casting long, disturbing shadows over our spreadsheets. He pulled up a file labeled 'Clint buyout', and the details it revealed struck us like a bolt of lightning.

There it was, a check to Clint Tyree, dated January 6th from a decade ago — the same date that now sent chilly memories, the date often referred to in cryptic notes from the killer. Our impromptu war room turned ice cold, the implications of the discovery sinking in, feeding the undercurrent of dread that was already there.

Our past was a lot more entangled with the present than we'd thought. Could it be? Could Clint, the man we had cashed out a decade ago, be the elusive murderer?

The revelation left us in stunned silence. Our past had just reared its head in the most unexpected way. The buyout check, the date, the gruesome string of murders—it all pointed toward Clint. It was as if the universe was dropping breadcrumbs of a twisted tale, leading us back to a man we thought we had left in our past.

"But why?" Ryder finally broke the silence, his brows knitted together in consternation. "Why would Clint want to harm us? And why now?"

"Revenge," Guy suggested, his voice low. "We bought him out. Maybe he's never let go of that bitterness."

"Or power," Chase chimed in, his usually jovial face hardened into a grim mask. "We took away his position, his influence. This...this might be his twisted way of regaining control."

"That doesn't explain why he's fixated on Courtney," I interjected, my mind returning to the fiery, determined woman we were all worried about. "Why bring her into this?"

"Maybe she's a means to an end," Daniel speculated, his gaze distant as he pieced together the puzzle. "Remember the Golden Key Project? Clint and Courtney worked on that together. Could he be planning something?"

Cold dread snaked its way around my sensibilities. Courtney, alone in Seattle—meeting the monster. The thought sent alarm bells ringing in my head. The rest of the discussion was a blur as I set up a conference call with Downing and Giuseppe to fill them in.

As the system tried to connect with our cohorts, my mind spun into a terrifying possibility. Was Courtney just a pawn in Clint's vengeful game, caught up in a lethal crossfire of corporate rivalry? The thought gnawed at me as the dial tone droned on, each ring echoing the urgency of the situation.

As our hearts pounded in unison, the blank screen suddenly filled with Downing's face first. His eyes, usually warm with wisdom, had hardened into a flinty gaze that immediately grabbed our attention. Then Giuseppe appeared his stern countenance a silent harbinger of serious news.

The room fell into a heavy silence, the air dense with expectation. Downing's gaze traveled across the assembled faces on our side of the connection, the weight of his stare making the significance of the moment unmistakable. The words were yet unspoken, but the concern etched on his face conveyed more than enough.

"I was just about to call you," he finally said, his voice steady, a testament to years of experience, but the fatigue around his eyes spoke volumes. "As you know, I went to see Alex."

Downing explained how his interview was abruptly interrupted when suddenly Agent Carter Brown came into the jail's hospital room.

"Carter shows up, and Alex goes silent," Downing sighed. "Then suddenly Carter brings in nurse Kathy, saying Alex is too weak for an interview, that I'm somehow worsening his condition." Downing's tone shifted, his voice tinged with surprise. "But Alex got a message through. Said he'd only talk to Meagan, his late sister's friend. And just like that, our conversation ended."

Our apprehensions morphed into shock and confusion, the undercurrent of fear becoming a tidal wave. We traded wide-eyed glances as the enormity of the situation descended upon us.

"So, now, what he's saying is that he will only speak to Meagan?" Guy asked.

"Yep. That's it in a nutshell." Downing nodded.

The normally steadfast Giuseppe seemed unsettled as well, his complexion paler than usual. His eyes conveyed the same sense of dread that was beginning to creep me out. The threads were slowly coming together, painting a chilling picture.

"The timing of this..." I began, my voice just above a whisper. "We just discovered Clint's possible connection to this mess, and now, Alex wants to see Meagan, a known associate of Guy's sister and Chase's wife. This can't just be a coincidence. And there's more," I told him, explaining today's discovery and our new suspicions regarding Clint.

"Like I said yesterday, there's a traitor in our midst," Giuseppe interjected. "And maybe more than one."

Downing gave a solemn nod, his face hardening into a stern mask. "I concur," he voiced, his words heavy with implications. "There's a greater complexity here than we initially thought."

Chase, his frame radiating tension, rose from his seat. He absentmindedly rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that betrayed his rising anxiety. "Under no circumstances will I give permission for my wife, Meagan, to visit Alex in jail," he declared, his voice resolute.

I echoed the sentiment almost immediately, "Despite Courtney's courage, I cannot in good conscience let her plunge herself into potential danger more than she already has."

Finally, Giuseppe broke his silence. His deep voice reverberated through the room, reinforcing our collective determination. "We're in agreement then. Our priority must be to link these elements and comprehend the larger picture."

"I suggest all of us meet at an undisclosed location other than Casa Palatious," I stated firmly, allowing no room for debate. "There's a myriad of details to dissect and understand that now involves Meagan."

And with that, the call ended, leaving us staring at our reflections in the blank screen. An unease hung in the air, a silent testament to our growing list of questions and the enigma that was steadily growing. It felt as if we were teetering on the brink of something big, a revelation that could either expose Clint's true intentions or hurl us deeper into chaos.

I sank back into my chair, the empty screen echoing the hollowness creeping into my gut.

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