Chapter 377
A heavy black sedan swerved sharply toward the curb, parking illegally and cutting off her path at the crosswalk. The tinted rear window rolled down with a smooth, electric hum.
Aunt Lydia Lancaster sat in the back seat. Despite the mild weather, she was draped in a thick, ostentatious mink coat, her face pinched with aristocratic fury.
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“Get in,” Lydia ordered, dispensing with any greeting. “We need to talk.”
Isolde didn’t break her stride. She stepped around the front bumper. “I don’t take orders from you, Lydia. I never did.”
Lydia’s eyes flashed. She tapped sharply on the glass partition.
The driver — a massive man in a tight suit — threw his door open and stepped out, planting his large body directly in Isolde’s path on the sidewalk.
Lydia pushed her own door open and stepped out onto the concrete.
“You embarrassed us at the gala last night,” she hissed, moving close enough that Isolde could smell her heavy, powdery perfume. “Turning up in that dress. Trying to steal the spotlight from Belle.”
а𝘥𝖽iс𝘁і𝘃𝘦 ո𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗌 o𝗻 𝗀𝗮𝗅𝘯о𝘷e𝘭ѕ.𝖼𝗼𝘮
Isolde looked at the older woman with an expression of complete boredom. “It was a custom cocktail dress, Lydia. You’re just angry I wore it better than your new pet project.”
Lydia gasped, her hand flying to her pearl necklace. “You insolent little —”
She stopped. Drew a slow breath. Attempted to recover her composure.
“Stop stalking Grayson. He doesn’t want you. He has Belle now. He has a real family.”
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Isolde let out a short, sharp laugh. “Stalking? I was formally invited. By your nephew.”
Lydia’s upper lip curled. “I know exactly what you are doing. You are trying to worm your way back in for the money. You think causing a scene will pressure him into increasing your settlement.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a vicious murmur. “If you don’t disappear, Isolde, I will personally ensure the bankruptcy proceedings for your mother’s company are expedited. I will see to it that she is left with nothing but the clothes on her back.”
Isolde’s bored expression disappeared. Her eyes went dead and cold. The temperature on the sidewalk seemed to drop ten degrees.
“Threatening the family of a federal contractor is a felony, Lydia,” she said, her voice dropping to a quiet, lethal register.
Lydia blinked. “What?”
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Isolde took one step forward, forcing the older woman back against the side of the sedan. The memory of Arland’s late-night email — his initial opposition research — flashed through her mind. A long shot, but Lydia didn’t know that.
“I’m sure you think you’re untouchable,” Isolde continued, her voice dangerously soft. “But my new partners are very thorough. You’d be amazed what a deep-dive financial audit can uncover — certain Cayman Island transfers, for instance. I wonder what the IRS would make of those.” She tilted her head, holding Lydia’s terrified gaze. “We both know the Lancaster Foundation isn’t exactly compliant with tax law, is it?”
The blood drained from Lydia’s face. Her mouth opened and closed. “You wouldn’t dare.”
.