Chapter 7 - The Wrath of Delphine
The financial blackout hit Delphine Vance with the force of an oncoming freight train.
By three in the afternoon, the quiet residential street outside our suburban home was shattered by the roaring engine of a white Mercedes G-Wagon. The SUV screeched to a halt half-mounted on our curb, tearing a deep trench through the manicured front sod.
Delphine burst from the driver’s side, completely unhinged. She wasn't wearing her usual tailored Chanel suit or her pearls; she was in silk lounge pants, an oversized cardigan, and oversized sunglasses that failed to hide the puffy red skin around her eyes.
"Evander!" she screamed, storming up the stone pathway. "Evander, get out here right now!"
I stepped out onto the porch, folding my arms across my chest. Evander was right beside me, holding his phone, the camera actively recording.
"He's busy, Delphine," I called out. "Step off the grass. You're ruining the rye."
"You shut your mouth!" Delphine shrieked, stopping at the base of the porch steps. She pointed a trembling, manicured finger at Evander. "How dare you! My card was declined at the grocery store! My card was declined at Serafina’s bail bondsman's office! They have my daughter sitting in a holding cell with drug addicts and prostitutes because your card bounced!"
"It didn't bounce, Mom," Evander said calmly. "It was revoked. You don't have access to my company funds anymore."
"I am your mother! Everything you have came from your father and me!"
"Dad built the firm," Evander corrected, his tone icy. "You spent his life insurance in Europe, and I rebuilt the business from the ground up while you treated Maya like the hired help for five years. That ends today."
Delphine looked like she was about to explode into flames. "You ungrateful little bastard! If you don't wire fifty thousand dollars to Pendelton’s firm within the hour, I will go to every news outlet in this city. I will tell them your gym-rat wife has been physically abusing you for years! I'll tell them the black eye on your face came from her!"
I stepped down the first wooden step, my eyes locking onto hers. The sudden shift in my posture—shoulders dropping, chin tucking, center of gravity lowering—was subtle, but Delphine’s survival instincts finally kicked in. She took a panicked step backward onto the lawn.
"Try it, Delphine," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, carrying an edge honed by hundreds of rounds inside iron cages. "File a false police report. Please. Add another felony to the Vance family portfolio. Because while Serafina is sitting in county lockup waiting for her arraignment tomorrow, the DA already reviewed the ceiling footage. They upgraded her charges an hour ago."
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Delphine froze. "Upgraded?"
"Felony assault with a deadly weapon," I smiled. "Turns out, boiling liquid in an eight-pound ceramic vessel qualifies as an aggravated instrument of harm. She’s looking at two to four years, Delphine. Minimum."
