Lacey’s body stiffened right away, her eyes lighting up in disbelief.
“You’re really giving me this much?!” she asked.
Playing dumb, I asked back, “Didn’t you say you wanted five hundred thousand?”
Before she could say anything, Miss Perkins leaned in and tugged at her sleeve, whispering just loud enough.
“Come on, Secretary Madigan, five hundred grand’s the least she can pay. After how long they kept you waiting, I’d say you’re worth double that.”
Lacey hesitated, then gave a slow nod.
Well, of course she did. She was the mother of Redmond’s son, after all.
And Redmond? That tycoon could rake in tens of millions without breaking a sweat. I bet Lacey figured that if he stood at the top of all men, then by extension, she deserved to rule over all women.
I could practically hear her scoffing, ‘Five hundred thousand? I’m worth way, way more!’
Whatever was running through her head, she folded her arms and puffed up like a proud peacock.
“You’re right,” she said smugly. “I did ask for five hundred thousand. Glad you know what’s good for you. I’ll let it slide this time.”
Then, with a flick of her hand, she added, “Now go move your car. Head now to the classroom. Don’t hold up the parent-teacher meeting.”
I gave her a faint smile, said nothing, and simply did as she said. I moved the car, then took my niece’s hand and walked her to class.
Her seat was in the very last row. We slipped in through the back door; no one even glanced our way.
But the second Lacey strutted in with her son in tow, half the parents in the room practically launched themselves toward her.
“Oh my god, that dress, Miss Lacey! Isn’t it from this year’s new couture collection?”
“Whoah, aren’t those the earrings from last week’s auction?!”
“Damn, President Grandpierre really spoils you, huh?”
One compliment after another flew around the room like confetti.
Just then, my phone buzzed.
I glanced down—it was the police station calling me back. I had made the report earlier, right before transferring the money to her account.
Quietly, I stepped outside to answer.
When I returned, Noreen was drenched—completely soaked in glue. Someone had dumped a whole bucket of it over her head.
Her hair was stuck in thick clumps, her clothes were ruined, and her little face was streaked and sticky!
A crowd had gathered around her, but not one person had lifted a finger to help.
I felt fury explode in my chest.
Without thinking, I shoved my way through the crowd and dropped to my knees beside her, frantically pulling tissues from my bag.
I dabbed at her face as I growled, “Who did this to her?!”
A voice answered loud and clear.
“I did!”
It was Duke. He stood there without an ounce of guilt, chin lifted like he was the one wronged.
“She hit me just ’cause I called her cursed! That’s not fair!”
‘Unfair, your ass!’ I almost blurted out.
Instead, I raised my hand and slapped him across the face—hard. Then I grabbed him by the collar, hand tightening around his scrawny neck.
“You little bastard,” I hissed. “You’re just like your mother—the same shameless slut!”
His face started turning purple from the pressure of my grip.
All around me, people gasped. Hands reached in from every direction, trying to pry me off him. But I’d snapped. I couldn’t be reasoned with anymore.
And then—a sharp voice thundered from the doorway.
“Kennedy! Let go of him this instant!”
