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Chapter 578
Chapter 578:
Easton strode in. The aura surrounding him was ten times darker than when he had left. He didn’t look at either of them. He walked directly to the small wet bar in the corner, picked up a heavy crystal whiskey glass, and hurled it against the solid marble wall with full force.
The explosion of glass rained across the floor in glittering shards.
Sloane screamed and ducked.
June didn’t move. She watched the usually hyper-composed lawyer come completely undone, one slight frown the only change in her expression.
Easton planted both hands on the bar counter and leaned his weight forward, chest heaving, eyes bloodshot when he finally turned to face her.
“The judge was directly pressured by the Compton Group’s executive board,” he said, his voice raw and shaking. “And it gets worse. They’ve already activated their PR operation. Tomorrow morning, the tabloids will run stories framing Snowball’s death as a tragic accident caused by negligent pet care p>
He drew a ragged breath, fighting to bring his heart rate down. “June, I am sorry. They are using the full weight of a global conglomerate to bury us p>
June walked across the room. Her shoes crunched softly over the broken crystal. She stopped in front of Easton and placed her hand firmly on his trembling shoulder.
O𝗿𝗀𝖺𝗻i𝘇e 𝘆o𝘶𝗿 𝗅𝗂𝗯𝗿𝘢𝗿y 𝗼𝘯
“No, Easton,” she said. Her voice was completely steady, carrying a quiet, absolute, and lethal certainty. “We are going to bury them. If they want to play capital games, then we are going to flip the entire table p>
The freezing wind off the East River lashed against the tall, rusted chain-link fences of Rikers Island.
With a grinding metallic screech, the heavy steel gates dragged open.
Susan and Richard stumbled out into the cold air, wearing the wrinkled grey sweatpants and cheap canvas shoes issued by the holding facility. They looked haggard and unwashed, blinking against the grey daylight as though they had forgotten what it looked like.
At the curb, gleaming under the overcast sky, sat a massive black Lincoln stretch limousine. Alycia stood beside the open rear door in a pristine white Chanel tweed suit, large dark sunglasses shielding her face.
The moment Susan spotted her daughter, she let out a dramatic wail and lurched forward.
“Alycia! Oh my God, it was absolute hell in there!” she shrieked, her voice raw and grating. “The mattresses were like concrete! The food smelled like pig slop! I didn’t sleep for a single second p>
Richard followed behind her, running a hand through his greasy, thinning hair and squaring his shoulders to cast a condescending glare at the corrections officer by the gate — the practiced posture of a man who believed himself a wronged dignitary rather than a released criminal.
Alycia took a small step back as the sour, unwashed smell of the prison reached her.
“Get in the car, Mom,” she said, steering her mother firmly toward the door. “You need to change. Immediately p>
The limousine’s interior was another world entirely — plush leather, the scent of expensive cologne, a silver ice bucket holding a chilled bottle of Dom Pérignon, and two garment bags of fresh designer clothing hanging from ceiling hooks.
Susan scrambled in and began stripping off the prison sweats with frantic urgency. Her face twisted into a mask of pure, venomous hatred.