Chapter 393

The two "golden girls", Isabella and Penelope, stood frozen in stunned silence.

Not a single word escaped their lips.

Just then, the grand doors of Rosewood Manor swung open. Oliver's striking figure appeared in the doorway, his tailored suit accentuating his broad shoulders.

Margaret's face flooded with relief. "Mr. Oliver! Thank heavens you're here!"

Oliver lingered at the threshold, his brow slightly furrowed. "Mrs. Margaret, what brings you here?"

Isabella noticed the faint amusement in his eyes. She was certain he'd been watching them shiver in the drizzle for the past thirty minutes. Probably sipping tea while they suffered.

Margaret wrung her hands. "That impostor Dr. Sinclair swindled us out of everything. We've nowhere left to turn but to you."

"Last time we met, you claimed to know Dr. Sinclair personally. Was that true?" Penelope interjected.

A smirk played on Oliver's lips. "I warned you. Dr. Sinclair is a woman. And yes, we're... intimately acquainted."

Isabella's pulse quickened. "Then help us! Please, track down that fraud and get our money back!"

Oliver studied the Whitmore women's desperate faces with detached amusement. He'd watched their entire pathetic display from his study. Now, seeing their pleading eyes, he chuckled. "Begging won't work. You'll need to ask someone else."

"Who?" Penelope demanded.

Oliver's smile widened. "Harrison."

What? Not Harrison again!

Alistair had already told them to seek out Harrison. Now Oliver was giving the same ridiculous suggestion. What kind of cruel joke was this?

"Mr. Oliver, this isn't funny! Harrison can't possibly help us!"

Oliver shrugged. "My advice stands. Take it or leave it."

With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared inside.

"Mr. Oliver—"

The door slammed shut before Isabella could finish.

Once again, they stood rejected on the doorstep.

Margaret looked utterly bewildered. "Why would both Professor Whitmore and Mr. Oliver tell us to go to Harrison?"

"Don't be ridiculous! They're mocking us. I'd never debase myself by begging Harrison for help!" Victoria snapped.

None of them wanted to face Harrison.

Margaret, Isabella, and Penelope had always treated Harrison like dirt beneath their designer shoes. Now they were expected to grovel? Unthinkable.

"If neither Professor Whitmore nor Mr. Oliver will help, what do we do?" Margaret's voice trembled.

Silence fell over the group.

"Night's falling. Are we seriously sleeping on the streets?" Margaret fretted.

Unseen by them, Oliver observed from his balcony. He snapped a photo with his phone and sent it to Harrison with a soft click.

Then he dialed.

Harrison answered on the first ring. "Yes?"

Oliver grinned. "See my text? The Whitmores are having a meltdown. Looks like they'll be bedding down with the pigeons tonight."

At Emerald Heights, Harrison paused in arranging white roses in a crystal vase. His fingers stilled as he viewed the image.