Chapter 74

Nathaniel's fingers turned the page of the financial report with deliberate calm. "What's the police update?"

Lucas adjusted his tie nervously. "Still interrogating the suspects. No official statement yet."

Such scandals were dime a dozen in high society. Hardly worth the media circus brewing outside.

Nathaniel took a measured sip of espresso. "Control the narrative. No press releases until we have facts."

"Understood." Lucas hesitated, then blurted, "Sir...rumors are circulating. The woman involved—they're saying it's Evelyn Whitmore."

The financial report crumpled in Nathaniel's grip as his head snapped up, eyes turning glacial.

Lucas swallowed hard. "I verified the hotel records. Suite 3201 at Grayson International was booked under her name this afternoon. All calls to her phone go straight to voicemail."

A muscle twitched in Nathaniel's jaw. "We don't convict on rumors. Find her. Now."

Abigail chose that moment to sweep in, phone clutched dramatically. "That's absurd! Evelyn would never—" Her eyes widened with calculated realization. "Unless..."

Her phone buzzed with Edward's confirmation: [Mission accomplished. Remember our deal.]

[Your payment's waiting,] Abigail typed back, smirking. She pulled up the trending news segment: [Socialite Evelyn Whitmore and companion detained in prostitution sting at Grayson Hotel.]

"Nathaniel!" she gasped, thrusting her screen forward. "Look at the woman's outfit—identical to what Evelyn wore today! And that blond man—wasn't that the 'friend' she met at the galleria?"

Nathaniel studied the blurred footage. The emerald green dress matched perfectly.

Abigail pressed a hand to her mouth. "No wonder she refused to let me join their 'reunion.' Disgusting."

Margaret's voice carried from the hallway. "Children? Where's Evelyn? Dinner's getting cold!"

Before Nathaniel could intervene, Abigail rushed to the elderly woman. "Grandmother! Evelyn's been arrested!"

Margaret staggered. The butler Theodore caught her just as her knees buckled. "What nonsense is this?"

Abigail shoved her phone forward. "See for yourself! Prostitution charges!"

Margaret's wrinkled hands trembled. The emerald dress was unmistakable. "This...this can't be..."

"None of us want to believe it," Abigail said with faux sympathy. "But evidence doesn't lie."

The house phone shrilled. Theodore answered, then paled. He hit the speaker button without preamble.