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Chapter 772:
She cried as she drove—not softly, but with the wrenching, uncontrolled grief of someone who had finally run out of everything. She was completely and utterly alone. A stray with nowhere to go.
In her rearview mirror, a black SUV followed at a discreet distance. It was the security detail Cole had assigned to watch her around the clock.
Alycia’s desperate flight had just begun. And June’s final move against the Beasley family was already waiting outside the gates of a federal prison.
At ten o’clock in the morning, a black armored Maybach pulled through the gates of a maximum-security federal correctional facility in Upstate New York.
𝘈𝖽𝘥i𝗰𝘁𝘪𝘃е 𝘴𝘁𝗈𝘳i𝗲ѕ 𝗈𝗇
June, wearing a perfectly tailored black trench coat and flat shoes, walked into the cold, disinfectant-smelling visiting hall accompanied by Easton. He presented the guards with the highest-level attorney visitation permit and requested a fully private room—no audio, no video surveillance.
Five minutes later, June sat at a stainless steel table bolted to the floor, her eyes fixed on the iron door on the other side of the bulletproof glass.
The door opened. Susan Beasley walked in wearing an ill-fitting orange prison jumpsuit, her hands cuffed behind her back, flanked by two guards.
The once glamorous, untouchable socialite was a shadow of her former self. Her hair was dull and brittle, her eyes sunken, her face carved with exhaustion and bitterness.
When Susan saw June sitting on the other side of the glass, pure venom ignited in her eyes. She threw herself against the partition, her handcuffs clanging sharply against the table.
“You little bitch!” she screamed through the intercom. “If it weren’t for you, I would still be Mrs. Beasley! I wouldn’t be rotting in this place! I will kill you—I swear I will kill you p>
June watched without expression, her eyes entirely devoid of sympathy, as though observing something small and desperate from a great distance.
She waited until Susan’s fury collapsed into gasping, until she slumped back in her chair. Then June leaned forward and spoke, her voice clear and measured through the intercom.
“You think you’re a martyr who sacrificed herself for her family?” A faint, mocking smile touched her lips.
She reached into her bag, withdrew an encrypted tablet, and pressed the screen against the bulletproof glass. She hit play.
The footage from the Plaza Hotel presidential suite filled the screen in high definition.
Susan’s pupils contracted to black. She stared at her husband’s face, contorted with pleasure, and the breath left her body.
Then Richard’s voice came through the intercom, clean and unmistakable: “Susan, that idiot… she’ll rot in prison forever. None of this would be possible without her taking the fall p>
The words hit Susan like a sledgehammer. Her face went deathly pale and her body began to shake.
She shook her head wildly, insisting it was fabricated—a deepfake June had manufactured to torment her.
June didn’t argue. She swiped to the next screen: the forged Presbyterian Hospital pregnancy certificate made out in Lexi’s name.
“Your husband didn’t just betray you with a woman half your age,” June said, in the calmest voice she possessed. “He is going to have a son with her. A male heir p>