Chapter 264
Lance
Thomas stayed silent, head bowed like a penitent in church. But there was something off about the stillness—something coiled and waiting beneath that humble posture.
Arthur's patience, already stretched to breaking after thirty years of lies, finally snapped.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you, goddamn it!"
Before anyone could react, he grabbed Thomas by the collar and shook him like a terrier with a rat. Thomas's head whipped back and forth, his carefully maintained mask cracking at the edges.
"What did you say to her?" Arthur's knuckles were bone-white against his son's shirt. "What the hell did you do?"
I watched my eighty-year-old grandfather manhandle his own son with a violence that should've looked pathetic but instead was terrifying in its raw, primal fury.
Serena moved toward them instinctively, but Diana raised one finger. Wait.
She was right.
Because Thomas was changing. The rigid defensiveness melted away, replaced by something that looked almost like... surrender. His shoulders sagged. His head slowly lifted.
"Dad." Barely a whisper. "I—"
"Don't you dare 'Dad' me! Spit it out!"
Thomas let out a long breath, like a man stepping up to the gallows. "I told her what you wanted. That's all I did."
Arthur's face went from red to purple. "You better start making sense right now, or so help me—"
"I told Grace that Evander was in love with her." The words came faster now, tumbling out. "That he wanted to run away together. Escape the family. Choose her over everything. But he needed to see her first. To talk. So I... I set up a meeting. Told her to go to Saint's Bay."
The room went ice-cold.
Arthur's hand, still gripping Thomas's collar, began to shake. "You son of a—"
CRACK.
The slap echoed off the concrete walls like a gunshot. Arthur's palm connected with Thomas's face hard enough to snap his head sideways, and for a heartbeat, nobody moved.
"It was you." Arthur's voice had gone deadly quiet. "You lured her there."
"You fabricated a message," I said, my voice barely controlled. "Tricked my mother into driving to that exact spot." My hands were shaking. "Then what? Sabotaged the road? Her car? Made sure she wouldn't make it out alive?"
I stepped forward, every muscle in my body screaming to hurt him. To make him feel even a fraction of what he'd put us through.
"How dare you. How the fuck dare you—"
Serena was suddenly between us, her hands on my chest. "Lance. Don't."
I couldn't look at her. Couldn't take my eyes off Thomas, this pathetic excuse for a man who'd destroyed my family and then played victim for three decades.
"You killed her," I said, each word deliberate. "You murdered my mother."
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Thomas's composure finally shattered. "I passed along what Evander asked me to say! I was doing my brother a favor! Yes, I arranged the meeting, but her death?" He shook his head violently. "That wasn't me!"
"Bullshit—"
"Mr. Lawson." Diana's voice cut through like a blade. "Your testimony just made you the primary suspect in a homicide investigation. I can arrest you right now. Want to reconsider your story? Maybe save us all some time?"
"You destroyed this family!" Serena's voice was sharp, accusing. "The least you can do is own what you did!"
But something shifted in Thomas's face. The panic evaporated, replaced by something colder. More calculated.
He straightened his collar slowly, deliberately. His expression settled into grim satisfaction.
"I've admitted what I did wrong," he said quietly. "But Grace's death? That's not on me. Matter of fact..." He paused, letting it hang. "I did my brother one hell of a favor making that call."
His eyes found mine.
"You should be thanking me, Lance."
The absurdity of it hit me like a physical blow.
"Thank you?" The words came out strangled. "You want me to thank you for—"
"For giving your parents one last shot at seeing each other." His tone was almost gentle now. Almost kind. "Shame they never got the chance. But that's not my fault, is it?"
I lunged without thinking, fist already cocked—
"Lance, no! He's baiting you!" Eleanor's voice rang out, but I was past hearing.
My fist was inches from his face when he spoke again, calm as Sunday morning.
"I know none of you want to believe me. But I've got proof. Text message from your father. On my phone. Right here."