Chapter 6 - Bloodlines and Betrayals
The peace lasted less than forty-eight hours.
By Thursday afternoon, the high-stakes game moved from the front porch to the family fortress. A sleek black town car pulled up outside, bearing the distinct custom plates of Evelyn Vance—my mother-in-law, and the self-appointed matriarch of high society.
Evelyn was a woman made of dry vermouth, vintage Chanel suits, and an unshakeable belief that the Vance lineage was God’s greatest gift to the state. She didn't bother to knock; she rang the doorbell with sharp, impatient jabs until I answered.
She swept past me into the parlor before I could even speak, her pearl necklace gleaming against her high-collared tweed jacket.
"Sarah," she announced without turning around, surveying my home with the distaste of an inspector visiting a tenement. "This circus has gone on long enough. Marcus called me in tears from a cheap hotel room near the airport. A *motel*, Sarah. A Vance sleeping in a motel. Do you have any idea how scandalous this looks in the society pages?"
I closed the front door quietly and crossed my arms, leaning against the foyer archway. "Good afternoon to you too, Evelyn. The girls are doing wonderfully, thank you for asking. They gained four ounces this week."
Evelyn waved her hand dismissively, as if my children’s health were a minor clerical error. "Of course they are fine. Babies are resilient. But Marcus is falling apart! David told me you threatened him with criminal charges! What on earth has gotten into you? You were always such a sweet, sensible girl. This vindictive streak does not suit you."
"A vindictive streak?" A cold laugh escaped my throat. "Evelyn, your son abandoned me at twenty-six weeks pregnant with high-risk triplets. He spent our savings on another woman while our daughters were kept alive by ventilators. Where was your maternal concern when I was sitting by incubator number three at three in the morning, wondering if Chloe’s lungs would collapse?"
Evelyn’s aristocratic mouth set into a thin, cruel line. "Men make mistakes, Sarah. Marcus has always had an impulsive spirit, just like his father. But a woman’s job is to endure and maintain the dignity of the family. You don't burn down the estate because the master had a temporary lapse in judgment!"
"He isn't the master of anything anymore," I said, stepping closer to her. "And this isn't his estate."
Evelyn reached into her designer handbag and produced a sleek leather checkbook. She uncapped a gold Montblanc pen with deliberate slowness.
"Let's not be dramatic, Sarah," she said, her voice dropping into a patronizing purr. "I will write you a check right now for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Personal funds, untouchable by Marcus's legal issues. In exchange, you will drop the restraining order, withdraw the emergency asset freeze, and allow Marcus back into this house so we can present a united front at the Annual Founders' Gala next month. The press must not get wind of this."
I stared at the checkbook, feeling a profound surge of disgust that made my skin crawl.
"Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?" I asked quietly.
May you like
"It will pay for nannies, private preschool tuition, whatever you want," Evelyn said, looking triumphant, assuming every woman had her price. "A very generous offer for a schoolteacher’s daughter."
I didn't blink. "Evelyn, keep your blood money. Because when Clara gets through with your son's corporate audit, you're going to need every single penny of that checkbook to keep him out of federal prison."
