Chapter 3 - The Scavengers Turn on Each Other**
The illusion of a united family front shattered inside of thirty seconds.
Beatrice spun around to face her son, her hands clawing at the air as blind panic replaced her arrogant bullying. "Marcus! Tell me she's lying! Tell me you didn't touch escrow funds! If federal regulators are auditing your accounts, the board will vote to strip your partnership, seize your assets, and hand you over to the federal authorities!"
Marcus clutched his head in his hands, rocking back and forth on the barstool. "I had to! The market crashed, Mom! Sebastian needed that cash infusion to keep his creditors from breaking his legs, and I thought—I honestly thought—I could flip the properties and replace the money before anyone noticed!"
"You fool!" Beatrice shrieked, her voice reaching a shrill, hysterical pitch. "You risked everything for that worthless addict of a brother! You threw away your entire career, your standing in society, and our family name for Sebastian!"
"You're the one who demanded I take care of him!" Marcus snapped back, his voice rising in sudden, desperate fury as he pointed an accusing finger at his mother. "Ever since I was a kid, it was always Sebastian needs this, Sebastian needs that! You created this monster, and now you're acting like I acted alone!"
I stood quietly by the kitchen island, watching them tear each other apart with a clinical, detached fascination. This was the true nature of the Lawson family. When times were good and money was flowing from my mother’s estate or my hard work, they were an impenetrable fortress of arrogance. But the second the bill came due, loyalty vanished, replaced by cowardice, blame, and vicious self-preservation.
"Stop it! Both of you stop it!" Beatrice hissed, casting a desperate, venomous glance back at me. She threw off her aristocratic pretense, scrambling around the table and stopping just inches from where I stood. Her face was twisted into a mask of pure malice.
"Camila," she whispered, her voice dropping into a greasy, pleading tone that made my skin crawl. "Listen to me. You're a smart girl. We can fix this. You have money—millions of dollars. You can pay off the shortfall in Marcus's escrow accounts before the board realizes what's missing. You can hire the best criminal defense attorneys in the state. We can sweep this under the rug!"
I looked down at her, my expression completely impassive. "And why on earth would I do that, Beatrice?"
"Because you're his wife!" she hissed, grabbing blindly for my sleeve.
"Former wife, technically," I corrected gently, sliding my arm out of her reach. "The divorce petition was actually filed and legally processed three days ago while I was in New York. Marcus was served electronically an hour before you kicked my front door open this morning. He just hasn't bothered to check his emails yet, because he was too busy planning how to steal my inheritance."
Marcus shot up from the barstool, his face sheet-white. "You... you filed for divorce?"
"Quietly, cleanly, and permanently," I said. "Every asset in this house, including the mortgage and the furnishings, is tied to my premarital credit and separate property holdings. By noon today, the county sheriff will be here to serve you with an eviction notice, Marcus. You're legally required to vacate the premises within forty-eight hours."
Beatrice let out a high-pitched gasp, clutching her chest as if she were about to suffer a heart attack. "You're throwing your husband out on the street? You heartless monster! You'll pay for this! We will sue you for everything you're worth!"
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"Go ahead," I said, stepping toward the front hallway to retrieve my coat. "Tell the judge all about the escrow embezzlement while you're at it. I'm sure the federal prosecutor will find your testimony absolutely fascinating."
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