Chapter 114 Bending for Money

At the New York Institute.

This venerable institution was erected in the last century and now showed signs of age and wear.

In the director's office, Bob stood before the massive wooden desk.

"Bob, you're aware that the Institute's finances are stretched thin," the director said, looking over his desk with a serious expression, "We can't retain all of our staff. I suggest you start exploring other opportunities. I can offer you a two-month notice period to find your footing."

Bob's eyes narrowed at the words, but he maintained his composure.

"Director, if I leave, it's the Institute's loss. Give it another thought, will ya? The State Institute's offering me big bucks to jump ship, but I stayed for my girlfriend," Bob insisted.

The director took off his glasses and retorted coldly, "Cut the act, Bob. Don't you know your own worth? I checked with the State Institute; they never made you an offer."

Bob's facade crumbled, embarrassment written all over him.

"Understood, Director," he mumbled, and turned to leave the office.

Just as Bob stepped out, a man rushed toward him, breathless.

"Bob! The secretary of Mansion Group's chairman's looking for you," he said hastily. "Wants to hire you for a lot of money, right outside as we speak."

The gloom lifted from Bob's face as he beamed at the prospect.

"Mansion Group's loaded and big-time," the man said enviously. "They're coming to you, that's something."

"I've got the goods," Bob replied with a smug smile, his disappointments forgotten.

Soon, he met the secretary.

"Mr. Bob, our chairman wishes to meet with you personally, to discuss an offer," the secretary relayed.

"Absolutely!" Bob nodded vigorously, knowing well the prestige of working with a powerhouse like Mansion Group.

Yet, at that moment, Bob had no clue that the owner of Mansion Group's New York branch was none other than Eric Phillips.

...

At Power Mansion.

The secretary led Bob to the chairman's office with an air of importance. Bob, jittery with a mix of nerves and excitement, felt honored by the personal attention of the Power Group's head.

"Mr. Bob, this way, please," the secretary ushered him into the office.

Stepping inside, Bob's gaze instantly found Eric Phillips sitting behind the desk.

"It's... it's you!" he stammered, eyes wide in a mix of shock and disbelief.

Bob remembered everything from the day before as he recognized Eric Phillips.

"Indeed, it is," Eric confirmed, his gaze locking with Bob's.
"Sure, it's me," Eric Phillips said with a chuckle.

"You're the CEO of Mansion Group's New York branch?" Bob's voice rose in disbelief.

"I thought Hailey Anderson said you were just another trust fund kid. How did you suddenly become the CEO of the Power Group?" Bob couldn't hide his surprise.

"Actually, I am a third-generation wealthy heir; my grandfather is Sean Williams," Eric replied, maintaining his composure.

"Sean Williams?" Bob gulped, a storm of shock churning inside him.

Bob knew very well who Sean Williams was.

In his wildest dreams, he never imagined that the man Hailey Anderson looked down on, the one he had challenged just yesterday, was none other than Sean Williams' grandson!

The realization made Bob's knees go weak.

He knew very well what this meant. Men like these could crush him as easily as they could an ant.

Still, Bob tried to keep his cool.

"Let's talk specifics. I invited you here to discuss a potential role in corporate security within our company," Eric said with a straightforward tone.

"A security officer?" Bob was taken aback. "Mr. Phillips, I'm good with my current job, so I appreciate the offer, but I'll have to decline."

Work as a security guard? What a joke. If it weren't for the fear of Eric's status, Bob would have felt like cursing.

And after seeing Eric in person, he had lost any interest in working for the Power Group.

"Don't be too hasty to refuse. You haven't even heard my offer yet. I'm willing to pay you a hundred thousand dollars a month. Think it over," Eric said nonchalantly.

"A hundred thousand?" Bob was visibly stunned.

The figure sent a wave of excitement through him.

Bob was making thirty thousand a month at his current job, which was on the verge of disappearing.

A hundred thousand was more than triple that amount!

"Does that seem too little? How about I raise it to two hundred thousand?" offered Eric Phillips, unfazed.

"Two hundred thousand?"

Bob couldn't help but swallow his saliva loudly again.

"That's the highest I can go. Take it or leave it. It's your call," Eric said as he turned to walk away.

"I'll take it! No need to think it over, I accept!" blurted out Bob without hesitation.

Two hundred thousand a month was an offer he couldn't refuse.

No joke, at two hundred thousand a month, that's a yearly salary of 2.4 million dollars!

Eric's laughter followed Bob's eager acceptance. "There's truth to the saying, 'Every man has his price.' And if money can't solve the problem, you're just not offering enough."
When Eric Phillips first proposed hiring him, Bob firmly declined. As Eric sweetened the deal, however, Bob's resolve wavered until he finally acquiesced.

Eric couldn't help but gloat internally, 'Hailey Anderson, you think your boyfriend is so noble, right? Turns out, he's just another sellout.'

Eric's motive was clear: to show Hailey that her boyfriend, whom she thought was untarnished by the world, was actually just putting on a façade and would happily dance for money.

"Alright, Bob, since you've agreed to join us, I need a gesture of commitment. But let's keep it professional," Eric stated, implying a more traditional sign of agreement.

"Mr. Phillips, this is.." Bob's face flushed with embarrassment at the request—a blatant insult.

"It's your choice. You can refuse, but you know the job rides on this," Eric responded coolly.

"Mr. Phillips, I'll bark!"

"Woof! Woof!"

After weighing his options, Bob barked twice.

Thinking of the $240,000 annual salary, Bob figured a couple of barks were a small price to pay.

"Good. You start tomorrow. You can go home now," Eric said with a smirk.

"Thank you, Mr. Phillips! Thank you!" Bob gushed with gratitude.

With a monthly pay of $20,000 adding up to $240,000 a year, he was too excited to contain himself.

After Bob left, Eric took out a camcorder that had been on the table, capturing the entire scene.

Everything had been recorded.

Eric promptly sent the video to Hailey Anderson via text message.

Meanwhile, Hailey was on her lunch break when she received Eric's message.

"Hailey Anderson, you claimed your boyfriend would never bow down for money. You were wrong. See for yourself."

Another text message followed shortly.

After pondering for a moment, Hailey decided to watch the video.

"Jerk!"

The sight of Bob barking like a dog on the video made her slam her hand onto the table in anger.

Bob appeared obsequious in the video, nothing like the man she knew.

"No! This has to be fake! That jerk Eric must have doctored it just to get under my skin! Bob would never debase himself like that!" Hailey asserted with conviction.
Bob was the kind of guy who wouldn't sell his soul for a buck—not in a million years. Hailey Anderson knew this deep in her bones, which is why she was hell-bent on clearing his name. She tracked down a colleague from forensics to scrutinize a video that could either condemn or exonerate him, desperate to prove it was a sham.

But the truth would remain cloaked in mystery for another agonizing seventy-two hours.

...

At the New York Presbyterian, life buzzed and flickered in the rooms lining the sterile corridors.

In one particular room, Mrs. Bush, Sharon’s mother, was perched on her hospital bed, engrossed in the daytime TV melodrama.

"Hey, Mrs. Bush, how are you feeling these days?" Eric Phillips sauntered into the room with a grin that masked his unease.

The purpose of Eric's visit was to sneak a peek at Mrs. Bush’s recovery process post-surgery—without bumping into Sharon.

Mrs. Bush beamed up at him, "Oh, it’s Eric! I'm on the mend, feeling better every day."

After a short pause, she prodded with a twinkle in her eye, "Eric, I've noticed Sharon hasn’t been with you recently. Don’t tell me you two had a tiff?"

"Uh, no, nothing like that," Eric stumbled, awkwardly fidgeting with his nose.

Right then, a graceful silhouette glided past the doorway.

Eric turned to find Sharon herself standing there. "Oh, Sharon," he mumbled, digging himself further into embarrassment.

He had hoped to avoid this precise encounter—visiting Sharon’s mom without the risk of crossing paths with Sharon herself.

As Sharon's gaze landed on Eric, a flicker of joy sparkled in her eyes, only to be swiftly replaced by the shadow of loss.
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