The Lawyer’s Net

The air inside the Hayes mansion had thickened into something almost solid, every breath laced with unspoken tension. Grace sat stiffly in the morning room, a porcelain teacup trembling between her fingers as sunlight spilled weakly across the parquet floor. Her knuckles, pale against the delicate china, strained as though she feared the cup might shatter if she so much as exhaled too hard. Across from her, Robert paced with the coiled energy of a man about to detonate. The rhythmic click of his polished shoes was a metronome of unease, tapping against the marble with sharp, unrelenting precision.

"We need to control the narrative before it runs us into the ground," Robert snapped, his voice tight, each syllable wrapped in steel. He fished his phone from his pocket, the screen casting a cold blue light across his face as his fingers moved with clipped precision. "Price will handle it."

Grace's eyes flickered up, their usual softness clouded with something rawer, something fractured. "Control the narrative, Robert?" Her voice wavered, thin as glass. "This isn't just a business scandal—it's our family." The last word cracked at the edges, like a thread pulled too tight.

Robert's mouth pressed into a thin, hard line. He didn't look up, his fingers still flying over the screen. "Sentiment won't salvage reputation, Grace. Price is drafting the public statement now. We deny the rumors, stress the love in this household, and put it all to rest."

From the hallway, Lottie leaned casually against the wall, arms folded, one foot crossed over the other. She listened without shame, her expression cool and measured, the faintest glimmer of satisfaction tugging at the corners of her mouth. The mention of Price—Hayes family fixer, master of media spin—sent a ripple of dark amusement through her. Let them scramble. Let them bury themselves deeper.

Her phone buzzed against her palm, a muted vibration she felt more than heard. She glanced down.

Mason: "I'm in. Price has a habit of shredding drafts when cornered. Let's push him there."

A slow smile curved Lottie's lips, her thumb brushing thoughtfully over the screen as if savoring the moment.

Downstairs, Evelyn emerged from the study, the faint click of her heels on the marble floor like a warning bell. Tension coiled beneath the silk of her blouse, her hands smoothed absently over her hips as if she could iron calm back into her composure. Her gaze snapped to Lottie, and for a moment, they locked eyes—a flash of challenge, a silent dare. But Lottie merely tilted her head, the smallest glint of amusement dancing in her eyes, as if to say, Try me.

"Mother," Evelyn purred as she swept into the morning room, her voice honeyed and warm, sliding onto the settee beside Grace with feline grace. "You look pale. You should rest. Let me take care of things." Her fingers brushed Grace's forearm, light as a whisper, but Grace's flinch was unmistakable, a sharp intake of breath betraying the brittle edge beneath her skin.

"Evelyn, don't—don't patronize me," Grace murmured, her voice trembling as she pulled her arm away, fingers curling into her lap. Her shoulders quaked just slightly, the motion barely perceptible beneath the stiff fabric of her blouse.

Lottie's eyes sharpened, the faint smile never quite leaving her face as she watched Grace recoil. For years, Grace had floated in a haze of curated perfection, willfully blind to the cracks that spiderwebbed through her family. Now, doubt was a creeping vine, curling tighter with every breath, and Evelyn's honeyed words couldn't smother it.

Evelyn's smile froze for a heartbeat, the curve of her lips tightening almost imperceptibly before she turned smoothly to Robert. "Father, I spoke to Price earlier. He assures me we can kill this before it grows legs. But we need cohesion. No mixed signals."

Robert's jaw flexed, the muscle twitching just beneath his ear. "We'll follow Price's lead."

Not if I have anything to say about it, Lottie thought grimly, fingers tightening just slightly around her phone.

As if on cue, her phone chimed again. Leo's message popped up: "Anonymous package traced back to someone inside. Sending details."

A thrill darted up Lottie's spine, sharp as a live wire. An insider. Perfect.

Across town, in a sleek, glass-walled office that smelled of leather and cold ambition, Price sat at his mahogany desk, tapping a gold pen against a stack of papers. His assistant hovered near the door, eyes flicking nervously between him and the television where news tickers hinted at a brewing scandal. The tension in the room was taut as a bowstring.

"We're ahead—for now," Price murmured, sliding the drafted statement into a folder with the precision of a surgeon handling a scalpel. But even as he spoke, his eyes darted to the shredding bin at the corner of the room. His fingers drummed faster.

A new message blinked on his tablet.

Mason Hayes: "Missed a few files, Price. Check again before you bury them."

Price's hand froze, the pen halting mid-tap. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

Back at the mansion, Evelyn slipped into the hallway, phone pressed tight to her ear. Her voice was a low hiss, urgent and frayed at the edges. "Price, I need you to hold the line. My mother is crumbling, and Robert is barely holding it together. Get those papers buried. If you let this slip, I'm finished."

Lottie didn't need to eavesdrop. She knew every word Evelyn would spit. The script was etched into Evelyn's bones, polished and rehearsed to perfection.

Inside, Grace sat frozen, fingers trembling over the photo in her lap—a photo she had looked at a thousand times, but never really seen. Her thumb brushed the edge, the blurred corner, the faint, unmistakable wrongness that now clawed at her gut like a buried scream. "This isn't the child they promised me," she whispered, the words breaking apart like thin ice underfoot.

In the kitchen, Amy huddled near the counter, shoulders hunched, voice shaking as she clutched her phone to her ear. "Lottie, I have the dossier ready. All her manipulations, everything we collected. Where do you want it?"

Lottie's voice was calm steel. "Send it to Mason. And Amy—don't lose your nerve now."

Amy swallowed hard, the sound audible even through the phone. "I won't."

Upstairs, Leo crouched over his laptop, the glow of the screen painting sharp lines across his face. His fingers danced over the keys as security footage flickered across the monitor. A smirk tugged at his mouth as he watched Price's assistant glance nervously over their shoulder. "Bingo," Leo murmured under his breath, firing off a message. "We're squeezing them from both ends."

In the garden, Evelyn stood beneath the arbor, eyes squeezed shut as the visions flickered—disjointed flashes, fractured warnings, none of them clear. The Foresight Flash was failing her, and panic seeped into her bones like cold water. Her hand shot out, slamming against the trellis with a sharp crack of skin on wood. She pressed her forehead to the rough lattice, breath coming in short, sharp bursts, chest heaving as she clawed for control.

Inside, Robert straightened his tie, the motion jerky, too fast. He turned to Grace, voice clipped. "We're calling a family meeting. Price wants statements unified."

Grace lifted her chin, delicate lines at the corners of her eyes deepening as something ancient and defiant flickered there. "I won't lie for you, Robert."

A beat of silence stretched between them, thick and brittle.

Robert's gaze hardened. "You will stand with this family."

Grace rose slowly, the whisper of silk against the chair like a drawn blade. "This family is falling apart."

As Robert turned away, Lottie slipped through the door with quiet grace, her voice a blade of silk. "Father, don't worry. I'm sure Evelyn has everything under control."

Evelyn appeared at the threshold, eyes glinting, lips tightening into a brittle smile. "Of course I do."

They stood there, sisters poised like queens across a chessboard, every move calculated, every glance a jab wrapped in velvet.

"I'll see you at the meeting," Lottie murmured, her voice soft, almost fond. She brushed past Evelyn, the faintest touch of her shoulder grazing Evelyn's arm—a ghost of contact, but sharp as a thorn. "Try not to break before then, dear sister."

Evelyn's smile cracked just enough to reveal the fissure beneath, her fingers tightening at her sides, nails biting into her palm.

As the mansion hummed with quiet dread, Lottie ducked into the study, phone in hand. Mason's latest message waited.

"Price is on edge. Push him now, and his whole web unravels."

Lottie's thumb hovered over the keys, breath slipping slow between her lips, her pulse a steady drumbeat against her skin. One leak, one push, one nudge—and the perfect façade Evelyn had clung to would shatter like spun sugar.

She drew a long breath, eyes narrowing, the faintest flicker of triumph sparking behind her calm exterior. Her fingers moved, the soft taps of the screen like a countdown.

In Price's office, the shredder whirred to life. Outside the window, the city pulsed, oblivious. But inside the Hayes estate, the storm was already here.

And as the clock in the hallway struck noon, a voice echoed down the marble corridor—Robert's, cold and sharp, knifing through the silence.

"Everyone. Meeting room. Now."

Lottie slipped her phone into her pocket, the weight of it a quiet promise against her hip, a slow, satisfied smile curving her mouth.

The noose was tightening.

And this time, no amount of spin could save Evelyn from the fall.