And with that one sentence, the ground beneath Phyllis Summers seemed to crack wide open.

The private club buzzed with quiet tension, as Amanda—lawyer, strategist, and the sharpest mind in any room—exposed the carefully constructed façade Phyllis had built around her latest venture. With the casual elegance of a courtroom predator, Amanda laid bare the truth: Phyllis hadn’t sought out Aristotle Dumas for innovation or vision. She had sought him out for power. For control. For survival.

Phyllis thought she could outsmart everyone. But Amanda held the receipts—literally. A thick envelope, discreetly stamped with Dumas’s private crest, landed on the table like a bomb. Inside? Not a contract to invest in media. Not a partnership agreement with Billy Abbott or Daniel Romalotti. No. It was a hostile takeover. Dumas hadn’t intended to support Phyllis. He meant to own her.

And he nearly did.

Amanda’s voice trembled with restraint as she laid it out, inch by inch, clause by clause. There was no room for confusion. Aristotle Dumas had never been a benefactor. He was a chess master. And Phyllis? Just another piece on his board.

The revelation left Phyllis stunned. Every whispered call, every persuasive pitch, every “strategic” conversation she had carefully orchestrated to bring Dumas into her orbit—had all been manipulated from the start. Not by her, but by him.

But Amanda wasn’t finished.

She leaned forward with a chilling final warning. “This isn’t just about business anymore, Phyllis. You’re dealing with a man who operates beyond the borders of our legal playbook. There are people who want him silenced. People who erase obstacles—not argue with them.”

And suddenly, the air shifted.

Was Aristotle Dumas just a secretive investor? Or was he a ghost from another world, cloaked in corporate sheen but followed by shadows far darker than anyone dared admit? Rumors spread through Genoa City like wildfire—whispers of criminal ties, hidden identities, buried scandals, and alliances no one could trace.

Amanda, as Dumas’s counsel, hadn’t revealed details. But the tremor in her voice, the fierce protectiveness in her warning—told everyone enough. The man Phyllis had chased with all her ambition was not just dangerous. He was potentially lethal.

Phyllis tried to save face. She gripped her wine glass, threw back a defiant glare, and insisted she still had options. “You think you’ve won?” she hissed, eyes flashing. “I’m not finished.”

Amanda didn’t blink. She didn’t need to.

“You’ve already lost,” she said softly. “Because everything you built depended on people you betrayed.”

And she was right. The Abbotts. The Newmans. Even Amanda herself. Phyllis’s desperation had turned allies into adversaries, and her last gamble just backfired. All it took was Amanda pulling the veil off the truth.

In that moment, surrounded by murmuring patrons and a sea of judgmental eyes, Phyllis faced a choice.

Retreat? Or rebuild?

The envelope shook in her hands. Her pride screamed to walk away. But her conscience—buried deep under years of ambition—whispered something new. Something raw. Something honest.

“I’ll handle it,” she finally said, placing the envelope back on the table and taking Amanda’s offered hand.

It wasn’t surrender. It was transformation.

But the storm isn’t over.

Now that Aristotle Dumas’s web is beginning to unravel, more players will be caught in the fallout. Billy Abbott, who unknowingly brought Phyllis into Dumas’s sphere. Daniel Romalotti, whose future hangs on that media venture. Even Victor Newman, who may soon realize that Dumas isn’t just a new player—he’s the threat no one saw coming.

And Amanda? She may be the only one standing between Genoa City and a reckoning decades in the making.

Would you trust Amanda if you were Phyllis?
Or would you walk into the storm chasing power like she did?