He reached into his pocket, pulled out a check, and flung it at my feet. "There's five hundred thousand dollars. Enough to give your mother a proper funeral. Take the money and go. Don't let me see your face again."
The check drifted to the ground and landed in front of my mother-in-law's memorial tablet. I stared at that flimsy slip of paper, then looked up at the man standing before me, a man I no longer recognized.
Slowly, I bent down. Picked up the check. Tore it to shreds. And let the pieces scatter in front of him.
"Clay." Each word fell from my lips like a blade, my voice steady and laced with bone-deep cold. "Read the name on that tablet. It says Nancy Farley. Your mother. The woman who gave birth to you and raised you. The birthday banquet you threw for her? Her funeral is right next door. The mother you keep calling your 'most beloved'? She's lying in there. She's been cold for three days."
The color drained from Clay's face in an instant, as if something had struck him square between the eyes. He stood frozen, unable to move.
The moment she heard the commotion, Audrey squeezed her way to Clay's side. She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her chin up, looking down at me as though I were something beneath her notice.
"Dorothy, quit playing dumb and spouting nonsense! My mom is perfectly fine. It's her birthday, and she'll be here any minute. Your mother didn't know her place, faked an illness, and got herself killed. That's on her. Don't you dare try to pin this on Evangeline!"
With a flick of her wrist, she signaled to the servant behind her, who immediately produced a document and slapped it down on the memorial table in front of me. The white silk draping shuddered from the impact, and a fine shower of incense ash drifted to the floor.
"Be smart about this. Sign the pardon letter. Evangeline is being generous enough to overlook your mother's little scam. Don't push your luck."
Clay glanced at the document, his expression dark and sharp-edged, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Dorothy. Sign it. Consider the matter closed. Stop dragging your mother's death into my mom's birthday banquet, or I promise you won't like what happens next."
I lowered my gaze to the paper. The words were plain enough: Evangeline Fox bears no responsibility. Dorothy Simmons voluntarily waives all claims.