The Contract With Her Father's Billionaire Rival-Chapter 85. Top Tier information.

Alaric dropped the phone on his desk and swayed in his chair.

What was he expecting? That Nicolette would just pick up his call after he had ignored her all day?

"Damn," he muttered, annoyance surging through him.

He had gone too far with his anger. He was supposed to go easy on her, give her time to explain herself.

This was probably exactly what Lucian wanted; to drive a wedge between them and swoop in for Nicolette.

And he had let it happen.

Clenching his fists, he tried to swallow the growing regret.

He couldn’t believe he had allowed this.

He dialed her number again. When she didn’t answer, he tossed the phone on the table and scratched his chin.

Damn, he missed her. He missed her sharp mouth, her laugh, her body.

He had been beating himself up over allowing Jerome get to him, over going so far as to pay for a Q girl.

He rubbed his face, his heart pounded painfully in his chest. He was done being angry, done being mad. And he didn’t care what Nicolette had done or whatever name the media called her.

She was his wife. She was his. That was all that should matter.

A knock came at the door before Jeanne stepped inside.

"Good day, monsieur. Mr. Schneider is here to see you."

Alaric straightened in his seat. "Mr. Schneider? I don’t have any meetings with him... or do I?"

"No, monsieur," Jeanne said, shaking her head. "I believe he heard you were back in town and wanted to see you."

Alaric groaned. "Alright. Have him wait in conference room three. I’ll join him soon."

Jeanne nodded and left.

Once alone again, Alaric rubbed his face and stood up.

Coming back to Australia was supposed to feel different. He wasn’t sure what he had expected—but just not this.

He thought being back among familiar faces and serene places would bring comfort.

But truthfully, he didn’t miss any of it.

Not the people. Not the food. Nothing.

If anything, he wanted to go back home—to New Orleans.

To Nicolette.

He made his way to the conference room. When he entered, Mr. Schneider was seated with three bodyguards standing behind him.

"Mr. Schneider!" Alaric exclaimed. "What brings you here?"

"It is you, Alaric," Mr. Schneider said, extending his hand.

Alaric shook it and took the seat beside him. "Me?"

"Yes. I heard you were around and decided to check up on you."

Alaric’s face brightened slightly. "Thank you so much."

"You’re welcome. What brings you back here? Last I heard, you were taking over your old man’s company," Mr. Schneider said, leaning back.

Alaric stiffened but quickly recovered. He hadn’t expected anyone to ask why he was back.

"Ah... business," he lied and then added a chuckle to cover it up.

He wasn’t about to admit that Ian had stolen four paintings—not to one of his biggest clients. That would destroy his credibility.

Mr. Schneider’s brow lifted, and he leaned forward. He signaled to his guards, and they exited the room.

Confusion twisted in Alaric’s gut, but he kept a composed posture. "What’s going on?"

"Nothing alarming," Mr. Schneider replied. "What I’m about to say is... private."

Alaric drummed his fingers on the table to quiet the unease rising inside him.

Had something happened while he was away? Did it involve Ian?

Mr. Schneider took his time before speaking, and Alaric didn’t rush him. He allowed the silence to hang between them.

"I was approached via email," he finally said. "Someone asked me not to do business with you. They left me evidence of what they claimed was the truth."

Alaric clenched his fists under the table, his jaw tightened.

Only one name came to mind.

Ronald Voss.

Somehow Ronald had managed to bring his dealings to Australia—something Alaric had worked hard to keep separate from his New Orleans business.

He shifted in his seat, locking eyes with Mr. Schneider. He being here meant he didn’t believe anything that was sent to him.

"What was in the email?" Alaric asked, hearing the anger in his tone.

"Bunch of nonsense," Mr. Schneider said with a shrug. "And I didn’t believe any of it."

Vague, but clear enough.

Alaric got it.

"So why are you here? You could have just told me that over the phone."

"See why I can’t stop doing business with you?" Mr. Schneider grinned, before his voice turned serious. "I was told one of my paintings is missing."

Alaric sighed. "Yes."

There was no point in denying it. If Mr. Schneider asked, it meant he already knew.

"Taken by that boy with the golden hair?"

"Ian. Yes."

"How do we get it back? The exhibition is in two months."

"I’m working on it," Alaric said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

That’s what he had been doing since he got back—spending hours at the police station, making endless calls. Trying to track Ian. Trying to find the paintings.

So far, nothing. No sign of Ian. No sign of the artwork.

And he was getting frustrated by the minute.

"You need extra hands?" Mr. Schneider offered, his brows lifted.

"No, but thank you," Alaric said with a faint smile.

"Well then, that’s it," Mr. Schneider said, standing.

"That’s it?" Alaric echoed, standing up as well. "You came all the way to ask me that?"

"No," Mr. Schneider said with a small smile. "I came to see you. In my culture, we believe the eyes say more than the mouth."

Alaric narrowed his gaze. "And what did mine say?"

"They tell the truth. That you’ve got this under control. That you’ll find my paintings."

"Uhmm," Alaric murmured.

"Thank you for having me, Alaric," Mr. Schneider said.

But something felt off.

Incomplete.

And he just couldn’t wrap his fingers around it.

How had Ronald gotten access to Mr. Schneider’s contact information? That was confidential, top tier information.

Unless...

His stomach dropped as the realization hit him.

Ian was working with Ronald.

Fuck!

Ronald had found a way to get to Ian. They were working together.

His chest tightened as the betrayal hit.

Ian had been like a brother. He couldn’t believe he had been betrayed like this.

"Are you okay? You... look weird." Mr Schneider asked, accentuating on the weird.

Alaric straightened his expression. "I’m good."

"Are you sure you don’t need help?"

There was something in Mr. Schneider’s tone that made Alaric pause.

"Is there something else you want to say?"

"No. I’m just offering help," Mr. Schneider shrugged.

Alaric watched him for a moment, but didn’t push. He then nodded. "Alright. Thank you again."

"You’re welcome," Mr. Schneider said, then walked out of the room.

Alone, Alaric ran a hand through his hair, his heart pounding with a mix of anger and pain.

How had Ronald gotten to Ian?

And how could Ian be so stupid enough to let this happen?

He steadied his breath as he left the conference room, his mind still reeling at his conversation with Mr Schneider.

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe the truth. He just couldn’t wrap his head around how Ronald had found Ian.

Just as he turned toward his office, someone called his name.

"Mr. Allens."

He turned. It was one of the tech guys.

"Hey, Devin," he greeted.

Devin was panting, his eyes wide like he had been running. "I... you... need to see this."

Alaric blinked at the mumbles. "What?"

Still catching his breath, Devin gestured toward the computer room. "You need to see this, sir."

Without another word, he turned and jogged off. Alaric, with his confusion deepening, followed him.

They reached Devin’s desk, and Devin pointed at his screen.

"Here, sir. Look at this."

Alaric leaned closer. A video of Ian sneaking out of the office was playing.

"I’ve seen this clip before," Alaric said, straightening with a frown.

"I know," Devin replied. "But look closer."

And Alaric did.

His eyes widened when he saw what Devin was showing him.

Ian appeared to be stealing the painting—but on closer inspection, it wasn’t Ian at all.

It was someone else, dressed in Ian’s clothes.

"What the hell?" Alaric gasped.