Chapter 119: Why was it so difficult for her mother to respect that?

Richard’s POV

“What is your take on this?” I asked Bentley Brooks, my lawyer. “Could we be dealing with a corrupt cop?”

“I did a quick check,” Bentley replied. “Manfreidi looks clean on paper. He has been on the force for eleven years, married, three kids, one in college and two in high school. Nothing out of the ordinary. Tomorrow I will dig deeper. I want to see his financial history, check his accounts, and see if there is anything that does not add up.”

I could hear him shuffling papers as we spoke. It annoyed me that he was clearly doing other things instead of focusing on me, but I had called him out of nowhere, so I supposed I could not complain too much.

“Do you think he would be careless enough to leave obvious proof behind?” I pressed.

“Well, if he was reckless enough to write threatening notes in his own handwriting…” Bentley let the thought trail off. I caught his meaning. Either the man was incredibly careless, overly confident, or maybe he wanted Violet to know he was the one behind the threats.

Maybe it was his way of intimidation.

But it was not working the way he wanted. Violet was not afraid anymore. She was furious. When I got home, Michael and Nash were trying to stop her from storming down to the police station. Nash mentioned that he had his own sources looking into the detective’s past.

I had no idea what his methods were, and I knew better than to ask. Nash would never tell me, and if he did, I was not sure I wanted to hear it. Still, it would be interesting to see how his findings matched up with Bentley’s.

After ending the call, I rubbed my tired eyes. I had stepped outside to make sure my father and Evelyn did not overhear, since they were having dinner in the next room. Violet sat at the kitchen island with her meal, completely unaware of my conversation.

Evelyn no longer bothered to pretend she was the perfect wife. She had stopped cooking family meals or setting coffee at breakfast, and honestly, I preferred it that way. I had no interest in sitting at a table with her and my father, pretending we were some happy family.

These days, Violet and I took turns in the kitchen. Michael was hopeless when it came to cooking, though Violet had been trying to teach him the basics, like how to grill a decent burger. Tonight, she made them with every topping you could think of, lettuce, tomatoes, avocado, onions, mushrooms. She served Michael his burger plain on a plate, no vegetables, no bread, no sauce, just a small scoop of sour cream he used for dipping.

I still worried about her eating habits. I had been reading up on the carnivore diet online, finding countless stories and research that painted it in a surprising light. It had me rethinking my own food choices. Michael and I had studied almost every diet trend in the fitness world, so I knew cutting carbs down to zero was extreme, even compared to keto.

I was not ready to give up vegetables, but I did push my bun aside.

What stayed on my mind, though, was whether Violet was eating enough to fuel her body with how hard she trained. And lately, after what happened in the shower, I could not stop wondering if that kind of restrictive diet was safe for a woman who might be pregnant.

Michael left his burger stacked high with buns, dripping in ketchup, mayonnaise, and several slices of cheese. I honestly had no idea how he managed to keep his sculpted, body-builder physique when he ate like a kid with no limits. He bit into it, and half the sauces spilled out the other side. Violet, without missing a beat, handed him a napkin as though she had been expecting it. I quietly slid some avocado onto my patties, building my own version of the meal.

We were about halfway through when Evelyn and my father finished eating. Evelyn collected their plates, carried them into the kitchen, and, as usual, left them piled in the sink. It got under my skin every time. She knew Violet would be the one to wash them later. Technically, we could have left them for the housekeeper to deal with in the morning, but I could not stomach the thought of Violet being stuck cleaning up after everyone else. She would never leave them sitting there, and I was not about to let her shoulder that responsibility alone.

It mattered to her to keep things tidy. Why was it so difficult for her mother to respect that?

I expected Evelyn to drop the dishes and disappear upstairs to my father, the way she usually did. But this time she paused by the counter, twisting her hands together nervously as she looked at Violet.

“Violet?” Her voice shook, fragile and hesitant. “I… I wanted to tell you something. Bennett and I have been talking, really talking, and he convinced me that I should see a therapist.” She bit her lip, inhaling deeply before continuing. “I know you have been trying to get me to go for a long time. I just thought you should know.”

Violet lowered her fork back onto her plate, her eyes softening. “That is wonderful, Mom.” Her voice carried warmth and patience, almost like she was the parent instead of the child. “I think this could be really healing for you. I am proud of you.”

For the first time that evening, Evelyn smiled, her pale cheeks tinged pink. When she smiled sincerely, she was beautiful, though there was always a fragile quality to her, too delicate for my taste, but I could almost understand what my father saw in her. She grabbed the dishcloth and wiped down the dining table before hurrying after him.

When I turned back to Violet, her expression stopped me. It was filled with something that looked like hope but carried a trace of sadness too.

“It is a good thing,” she said softly, her smile a little shaky. “For all his faults, it seems like your dad has had a positive influence on my mom.”