Chapter 6 - The Scars of the Estate
By midnight, the grand drawing room of the Coronado estate was empty.
Julian Lawson had been escorted off the premises by Evelyn’s security team, straight into a waiting town car that would take him to a hotel until the family attorneys settled his official removal from the Lawson Holdings trust board.
Michelle had been ordered to pack her things and leave with her two infants. She had stood in the cobblestone driveway in the pouring rain, holding the two bassinet handles, waiting for a yellow taxi because Christopher had confiscated the keys to the Range Rover he had bought her three weeks earlier.
Christopher remained sitting on the cold saltillo tiles near the fireplace, his designer suit ruined, his tie undone, staring blankly at the cold ashes in the hearth.
Evelyn walked back into the room holding two small glass tumblers filled with twenty-year-old scotch.
She handed one to me.
"Drink it, Victoria," Evelyn said softly, sitting down in one of the high-backed wing chairs. "You've had a long three years."
I took the glass, feeling the warmth of the amber liquid as I took a small sip. "What happens now, Evelyn?"
Evelyn looked down at her son, who didn't even turn his head when his name was mentioned.
"Tomorrow morning, Richard Vance and his firm will be served with a formal complaint for medical fraud, corporate conspiracy, and grand theft," Evelyn said coldly. "The state medical board will revoke Dr. Thorne’s license before the week is out. And Richard will spend the next five years defending himself against disbarment."
"And Christopher?" I asked.
Evelyn took a slow sip of her scotch. "Christopher will surrender his remaining shares in Lawson Holdings to the family trust. He will receive a monthly stipend—enough to rent a modest apartment in the Valley and pay child support for Julian's children. But he will never hold a corporate title in this state again."
Christopher didn't move. He sat on the floor like a stone statue, his eyes fixed on the empty fireplace.
"Victoria," Christopher whispered, his voice dry and scratchy, like leaves dragging across asphalt.
I turned my head to look at him.
"You knew," he said, slowly turning his hollow, red-rimmed eyes up to mine. "When we were sitting in that lawyer's office on Friday... when you asked me about the twins... you already knew, didn't you?"
"I didn't know the whole story, Christopher," I said honestly. "I just knew the numbers didn't add up. They never do when you build something on a lie."
He bowed his head, resting his forehead against his knees, and began to cry—quiet, hopeless, desperate tears that were no longer meant for an audience.
I turned away, handed my half-empty glass back to Evelyn, and pulled my coat around my shoulders.
"Thank you for the drink, Evelyn," I said.
Evelyn stood up, stepping toward me and taking my right hand in both of hers. Her skin was cool, but her grip was remarkably strong.
"You were the only good thing that ever happened to him, Victoria," Evelyn said, her eyes shining with rare, genuine emotion. "I am sorry my family was too blind to see it."
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"Goodbye, Evelyn," I said softly.
I walked out of the drawing room, down the grand saltillo-tiled corridor, and out the heavy oak doors into the fresh, rain-washed ocean air of Coronado Island.
