“You were never part of this family—you’re nothing but a useless freeloader carrying my grandson, so get under that table, eat what we throw away, and be grateful my son still lets you live in his house.”

Gwen was discharged that evening with strict orders: rest, hydration, no unnecessary stress, and a follow-up in two days.

Lucas didn’t bring her home.

Ava had already made up the guest room in her condo in Decatur and stocked the fridge with cut fruit, yogurt, and ginger ale. Gwen didn’t argue when Lucas carried her overnight bag inside. She only looked tired enough to lean her forehead against the doorframe for a second before going in.

“I’ll stay with you,” Lucas said.

“You need to put out the fire at work,” Ava answered for her. “What she needs tonight is a place where your mother doesn’t have a key.”

That landed.

Back in Brookhaven, Lucas changed the alarm code, then sat in the dark kitchen looking at the high chair box still propped against the breakfast bar. His phone lit up with a message from Brenda.

You are overreacting. Charlie has done more for your business than you realize. Gwen has poisoned you against your own family.

He didn’t answer.

By Monday morning the consequences were everywhere. The bank paused renewal pending review. Fuel vendors wanted reassurance. Mason said if payroll got delayed, drivers would start calling around for new jobs.

Then Natalie texted.

I can’t keep defending her, but if you’re going to blow this up, make sure you actually know what Charlie got.

Before Lucas could respond, Tasha emailed an attachment with the subject line ADMIN ACCESS HISTORY.

He opened it at his desk and felt his neck go hot.

Three separate nights. Three different Mercer approvals. All under his credentials.

All from an IP address registered to Brenda’s laptop.