Chapter 364

The Winters' daughter was gone forever. Mrs. Whitmore had once dreamed of her working among the elite, securing a lavish future. Now, all that remained were hollow aspirations.

Evelyn smiled coolly. "How much compensation are you demanding?"

"At least $800,000."

Chloe nearly choked on her coffee. The audacity! Even $800 would have been excessive.

Evelyn's lips curved. "And when that runs out? Will you come crawling back for more?"

Mrs. Whitmore stiffened, as if Evelyn had peeled back her greed like an onion. "What’s that supposed to mean? Are you paying or not?"

"Chloe," Evelyn turned, ignoring her. "What’s the legal term for this?"

Chloe didn’t miss a beat. "Extortion. Minimum three years. But for $800,000? Try fifteen."

The elderly couple paled.

"This isn’t extortion! You’re twisting our words!" Mrs. Whitmore’s voice cracked.

Evelyn slid a document across the table—a law firm’s letterhead gleaming under the café lights.

"Mrs. Whitmore, if you want compensation, let’s do this legally. If the court rules Winifred’s death was my fault, I’ll pay every cent. But if they don’t?" Her gaze sharpened. "Then I owe you nothing."

Mrs. Whitmore’s mouth opened, then shut.

Evelyn leaned in. "If you think I’m hiding behind the Goldmann name, you’re mistaken. Nathan would’ve had you removed already. I’m being generous." Her tone iced over. "I respect the dead. But you? You’re using your daughter’s tragedy to line your pockets. Do I look like a fool?"

Mr. Whitmore stayed silent, gripping his cane.

His wife shot up, chair screeching. "You can’t intimidate us! I’ve lived decades longer than you—"

"And yet," Evelyn stood, towering over her, "you only came now? Who put you up to this?" A pause. "Tell your puppet master I’m not as easily manipulated as you."

She turned to leave, then glanced back. "Oh, and I recorded this entire conversation. Unless you want more trouble, I’d stay quiet."

Outside, Chloe hurried after her. "Did you really record them?"

Evelyn smirked. "Bluffing. But they’ll report it to their handler."

Chloe grinned. "Psychological warfare. Nice."

The autumn wind carried their laughter as they vanished into the city’s pulse.