Oh Fake 339

Chapter 339 

“Mr. Gibson,” Clayton greeted him with a smile, extending his hand. “Long time no see.” 

Paul reached out halfway, then paused and pulled back. 

“Clayton?” 

It took him a moment to place the name. 

The man in front of him looked nothing like the one he remembered, gaunt, balding, and almost unrecognizable. If Paul hadn’t dealt with him a few times in the past, he might not have made the connection at all. He certainly wouldn’t have guessed this was the once–famous attorney. 

He turned to Paige. “Get the documents ready. We’ll go over them before the meeting.” 

Then, with a subtle tilt of his head, he signaled Clayton to follow him aside. 

Paige blinked, then quickly caught on. 

She thought, ‘Wait, isn’t he Ms. Brown’s ex? She’s on her way up. If she sees this jerk now… No way. It could stress her out. That can’t be good for the baby.‘ 

Meanwhile, Clayton had pulled a cigarette from his pocket and offered it to Paul. 

He didn’t smoke much himself. This was just an attempt to smooth things over. 

Even the quality of his cigarettes had noticeably declined. 

Paul didn’t even bother to answer. He glanced at the cigarette, his expression flat, a mocking smirk flickering at the corner of his mouth. He reached past Clayton, pressed the elevator button, and ushered him in. 

Before Clayton had a chance to react, Paul hit “Lobby.” 

“Wait! Mr. Gibson, I’m here to see Audrey,” Clayton said quickly. 

Paul leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching him. “And in what capacity? Team lead for the transport unit? Because last I checked, we work directly with Neil now.” 

Color drained from Clayton’s face. He rubbed his palms together awkwardly, voice low. “I’m her ex–husband. You know that.” 

“Oh?” Paul raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. “So what is this? You think she’ll take you back? Hoping your remarried ex–wife might support you, your paralyzed mother, your dropout niece, and your bitter, unemployed brother? Pathetic doesn’t even begin to cover it.” 

His gaze dropped, very deliberately, to Clayton’s crotch. 

Clayton flinched. The implication hit its mark. He’d undergone acupuncture for months just to regain a trace of sensation. Unless a needle was involved, nothing worked. 

And now, with Paul’s words, it felt like that hidden shame had been stripped bare, exposed under a spotlight for the world to see. 

He clenched his hands, first rubbing, then tightening into fists. 

But he was here to ask for help, not to fight. No matter what Paul said, he couldn’t afford to lose control, not now. He forced a smile that barely held. 

“There were misunderstandings between us. But we were married once. I heard she was back… I just wanted to see her. That’s all.” 

The elevator doors opened with a chime. 

1/3 

Chapter 339 

Paul slapped him hard on the back, sending him stumbling forward. 

Then he threw an arm around Clayton’s shoulders and half–dragged him toward the exit. 

“Ms. Brown doesn’t meet with just anyone,” he said under his breath. “Especially not leeches. Whatever mess you’re in, don’t bring it to her. She don’t. need the reminder, and she sure as hell doesn’t need you!” 

Clayton tried to resist. He hadn’t come this far just to be kicked out without seeing her. 

Bút he was in no condition to put up a fight. Paul was stronger, faster, and had no patience for games. He was hauled through the lobby, down the steps and out toward the front landscaping before Paul finally let go. 

“Clayton,” Paul said, his voice quieter now, but colder. “When you and Valerie ganged up on her, when you refused to listen, refused to believe her did you ever imagine she’d end up here? Somewhere you couldn’t even reach? 

“No. You didn’t. Because you never respected her. You shut her down, defended that woman, and watched her walk away without a second thought. 

“And now that Valerie’s wrecked your life, now that everything’s falling apart, suddenly you want your ex–wife back in the picture? How do you still have the nerve to show your face?” 

Clayton’s face was ashen, his skin damp with sweat. 

His fists clenched tightly at his sides, knuckles rigid and white. He looked like a man trying to hold himself together by sheer force of will. 

Paul gave a quiet, mocking laugh and then went in for the kill. 

“You were so in love with that woman, weren’t you? The one who cheated on her ex, dragged someone else’s child into your home, and married you like it was nothing. 

“I hear she picked up something nasty too, STD. But hey, you were married, right? Don’t tell me you walked away clean.” 

“I…” 

“You what? Don’t come crawling around again. You pull this stunt one more time and you’ll be out of the motor pool for good. And don’t even think about accusing me. Hey, hey! Don’t you drop now…” 

But Clayton was already going down. 

He collapsed without warning, hitting the pavement hard. 

Paul stepped back instinctively, eyes narrowing with suspicion rather than concern. He glanced around quickly, as if checking for witnesses. 

Waving toward the front entrance, he called out to the security guards. One of them ran over. “Mr. Gibson, what happened?” 

Paul pointed toward the security camera above the entrance. “That one still working?” 

The guard followed his gaze. “Yeah. Recording’s fine.” 

“Good,” Paul muttered. “I want footage from the second we stepped outside to when he hit the ground.” 

He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, tossed it to the guard, then took out his phone. 

“Yeah, I need an ambulance. Guy collapsed on the sidewalk. Medical condition? No idea. Never seen him before. Should I check on him? No thanks. My salary’s not worth the lawsuit. Yes, male, early thirties, I guess.” 

Clayton had blacked out the moment he hit the ground. But as his mind swam back to the surface, Paul’s voice was the first thing he heard, dry, detached, like someone giving instructions for disposing of an unwanted package. 

He was furious. He wanted to move and speak, but nothing in his body would respond. 

Chapter 339 

Paul glanced over his shoulder and noticed his eyes were open, “He’s awake. Is he responsive? Let me check… Hey Your silver called you on lan Fifty bucks for the ride. You’re covering it yourself.” 

The moment the words hit him, Clayton stirred, trying desperately to sit up. 

Fifty dollars was money he couldn’t afford to waste, not now. 

“He’s getting up,” Paul said. “Looks fine to me. Cancel the call.” He hung up and headed back toward the building. 

At the entrance, the security guard returned with the surveillance footage. Paul took it, then nodded toward Clayton. “That guy’s blacklisted. Anyone fet him in again, they’ll answer for it. 

“And just a heads–up. Word is, he’s carrying something contagious. You want to keep breathing, stay the hell away from him.” 

Clayton didn’t hear the last part. 

He sat for a while, trying to gather himself, rage and desperation churning inside him. But he wasn’t ready to give up yet. 

Audrey was still his last hope. 

If she would offer him even a fraction of help, he might still crawl out of this nightmare. 

He stood up, unsteady, and made his way back toward the building. The guards saw him approach. One took a subtle step back, and another pulled a surgical mask from his pocket and slipped it on. 

Paul hadn’t explained what disease Clayton supposedly had, but they weren’t taking chances. 

Clayton stepped in front of the facial recognition scanner. He had registered earlier, and it should’ve granted him access. But the screen kept flashing- Unable to Identify. 

Maybe his face looked too pale, too drained. 

He scrubbed his cheeks hard, trying to get color back, then stepped forward again. 

“Don’t bother,” the masked guard said flatly. “You’re not allowed in.” 

“Why…” Before the question left his mouth, Clayton dropped for the second time. 

This time the fall was heavier. His body hit the ground with a thud and bounced slightly before going still. 

The masked guard frowned, pulled out his phone, and called for an ambulance again. He mentioned something vague about a possible infectious disease, just to be safe. When the paramedics arrived, they were dressed head–to–toe in hazmat suits. 

After Clayton was taken away, the guards drenched the entrance in disinfectant spray. The chemical stench hung in the air, acrid and choking. 

When Clayton regained consciousness, it felt like the sky had caved in. 

He had no idea how many tests they’d run or how much blood they’d taken. All he knew was that the bills would be high, and the news he was about to rece‘ 

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