The jazz club had barely finished echoing its last trumpet note when Victor Newman leaned back in his chair, candlelight dancing against the steel in his eyes. Across from him, Phyllis Summers sat draped in emerald silk and ruthless resolve. She thought tonight would seal her triumph, a turning point in their alliance. But Victor’s voice, smooth and lethal, cut through her illusions. “I want more,” he said. “I need you to end Billy Abbott—publicly.”
Phyllis didn’t flinch. She had already begun. Whispers of fraud, questions about his ties to Dumas, suggestions of wavering loyalty—all planted like poison in Genoa City’s gossip chain. But Victor wasn’t interested in whispers. “Make it personal,” he ordered. “Let him watch everything he built fall apart.”
