Chapter 407
Chapter 407:
Isolde hesitated. Beatrice was the only member of the Lancaster family who had ever, even briefly, defended her against Grayson’s cruelty. And denying Beatrice access to Effie would hand Grayson’s lawyers ammunition in the custody battle.
“Fine,” Isolde conceded, her jaw tight. “Sunday for tea p>
She hung up the phone. Arland looked at her, his expression grim. “You are walking into the lion’s den p>
“I am the lion,” Isolde corrected, and turned back to her computer.
Sunday afternoon. The Hamptons.
Isolde drove her silver sedan through the massive wrought-iron gates of the Lancaster estate. The tires crunched against the pristine white gravel of the long driveway as the mansion came into view — a sprawling, gothic-style structure of grey stone and dark glass, designed to make outsiders feel small and insignificant.
Effie sat in the passenger seat, clutching her seatbelt, staring up at the house with wide eyes caught somewhere between awe and fear.
“Is Daddy here?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
𝘈d𝘥𝗂𝘤𝗍𝘪𝗏e 𝗌𝘵o𝘳𝗶e𝘴 𝘰n
“Maybe,” Isolde said, parking the car. She unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to Effie. “Stay close to me. Do not leave my side p>
They walked up the wide stone steps and entered the grand foyer. The air inside was freezing, aggressively air-conditioned to preserve the antique oil paintings lining the walls. The head butler — an older man who had made a habit of ignoring Isolde throughout her five years in the family — offered a stiff nod. “Madam.” He led them into the main drawing room.
Beatrice sat in a high-backed velvet chair near the unlit fireplace, leaning heavily on a silver-tipped cane.
Standing by the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a glass of scotch, was Daron McKnight. Isolde’s eyes narrowed. Grayson had likely assigned him here as a corporate watchdog over the InnoTech investment — Belle’s new shadow in a tailored suit.
Daron turned as Isolde entered. A nasty, triumphant smirk spread across his face. “Well, well. Look who finally came crawling back p>
Beatrice brought the tip of her cane down sharply against the hardwood floor. The crack echoed like a gunshot.
“Silence, Daron,” she commanded, without looking at him.
The smirk vanished. Daron shrank back against the cabinet.
Beatrice raised her hand and beckoned to Effie. “Come here, child. Let me look at you p>
Effie hesitated, gripping Isolde’s hand. Isolde gave her a gentle, reassuring nudge. The little girl walked slowly across the Persian rug and stood before the matriarch.
Beatrice studied her for a long moment, then shifted her piercing gaze to Isolde. “You look different,” she observed, her eyes narrowing. “Sharper. The softness is gone p>
“Survival does that to a person,” Isolde replied, standing tall, refusing to be diminished by the room.
Daron couldn’t help himself. He scoffed. “Survival? She is desperate. Belle crushed her supply line. She is here to beg for a bailout p>
Isolde didn’t look at him. She offered Beatrice a faint, chilling smile. “Is that what she told you p>
Before Daron could answer, the heavy glass doors leading to the terrace slid open.