Chapter 8 - Evelyn's Wrath
Evelyn Lawson did not do things by halves.
A month after the dinner party in Phoenix, Evelyn invited me to the estate. It was a formal invitation, printed on heavy stock paper. I flew to Arizona, curious to see the aftermath of the storm.
Evelyn received me in the sunroom, sipping tea. She looked older, the stress of the past month having carved deep lines around her eyes, but her posture was as unyielding as ever.
In the corner of the room, a high-end nanny was rocking the twin babies.
“You won custody,” I noted, taking a seat opposite her.
“Temporary guardianship, pending Michelle’s federal trial,” Evelyn corrected smoothly. “She agreed to sign away her parental rights in exchange for me funding her criminal defense lawyers. She realized very quickly that a mother in federal prison has no use for children she can't monetize.”
“And Christopher?”
Evelyn’s eyes hardened. “Christopher has been disinherited. He is no longer a Lawson in my eyes. He allowed a grifter to violate my late son's legacy because he was too cowardly to admit his own failings. I have bought him a small condo in Scottsdale and provided a modest monthly stipend, conditional on him never speaking to the press. He will live out his days in quiet mediocrity. It is what he deserves.”
I looked at the babies. They were innocent in all of this. Born into a web of lies, manipulation, and greed.
“They are beautiful children,” I said softly.
Evelyn looked at them, and for a brief second, the ice in her eyes melted. “They are Jonathan’s. I will raise them with the truth. They will know who their father was. And they will never know Christopher as anything other than an estranged uncle.”
She turned her sharp gaze back to me. “You orchestrated the takeover of Vextor brilliantly, Victoria. My financial advisors told me the transition was seamless.”
“I’m simply protecting my investments,” I replied.
May you like
“You are a formidable woman. Christopher was a fool to let you go. But I suspect you are much better off without the dead weight of my son holding you back.”
“I am,” I agreed. We raised our teacups in a silent, mutual acknowledgment of the war we had fought and won.
