Tyler thought embarrassing his grandmother in front of seventy guests was just a harmless joke—until I discovered he had already claimed my mansion as his inheritance. / Chapter 36 / 81

Chapter 36 - The Grandson's Return

The front door opened again, slowly, with the creak of an uninvited shadow.

Heavy boots scuffed across the marble entryway. Tyler stepped into the parlor doorway, his posture slouched, his hands jammed deep into the pockets of his expensive leather jacket. He looked bruised, not physically, but spiritually. The arrogance that usually radiated from him was replaced by a feral, cornered desperation.

"Dad," Tyler muttered, ignoring me completely. "The bondsman is outside in his car. He said if we don't produce the deed to the west parcel within forty-eight hours, he's pulling the bond and the deputies are bringing me back to the cage. Did you get the old witch to sign?"

The words hung in the air like poison.

I turned my head and looked directly at Tyler. The boy who had sat on my lap as a child, who had listened to my bedtime stories, who had smiled while a sparkler bomb ruined my eightieth birthday party and exposed me to the ridicule of millions of strangers online.

"You look tired, Tyler," I said, my voice steady, ice-cold.

Tyler sneered, stepping into the room and towering over my chair. "Don't play the sweet grandma routine with me, Evelyn. Dad told me the truth years ago. You’re not my grandmother. You never were. You’re just the widow of the thief who ruined the Mercer name. Everything in this room belongs to me by right of blood. So sign the release for the bond, or I swear to God I’ll have the lawyers declare you mentally incompetent by morning."

"Tyler, quiet!" Richard snapped, though there was little authority in his command.

I didn't flinch. I slowly set my teacup on the saucer with a gentle, metallic clink.

"You speak of rights of blood, Tyler," I said, looking up at him with unblinking eyes. "You think you are reclaiming a kingdom. But all you have ever displayed is the greed of a hyena feeding on scraps."

"Shut your mouth!" Tyler yelled, slamming his fist onto the antique mantelpiece. A porcelain figurine—one my mother had given me—rattled and tipped over, shattering on the stone hearth. "Look at yourself! You're eighty years old! You're clinging to bricks and mortar while I’m drowning! You owe me this house! Thomas Vance owed my grandfather his life!"

"Thomas Vance is dead," I replied, rising slowly from my seat, refusing to let them look down on me. "And the debt you speak of has already been paid tenfold. Thomas raised your father with luxury, educated him, gave him every opportunity to become a decent man. And what did your father produce? A deceitful coward, and a grandson who thinks kicking an old woman is the mark of a conqueror."

Tyler took an aggressive step toward me, his hands curling into fists. "Give me the deed, Evelyn."