The word lands like a hammer.
“Let them.”
His smug expression falters.
Because now I’m smiling.
“And when the court asks about the mortgage fraud, the drained college account, and the seventeen-year-old you were screwing while you were still married—well, I think you know how that’ll go for you, Mike.”
I shrug slowly.
“Seventeen?”Kelly repeats, disgust rolling off her in waves.
She pushes away from the table.I offer my hand.She takes it.
“Kelly, that’s not—I mean,” Mike tries, but she is done.
And so am I.
“I’d tell your parents to reconsider if I were you.But if they don’t, well, it should make for an interesting afternoon.”
His mouth opens.
Closes.
Behind him, I hear someone whisperJesus Christ.
Mike looks around the room, suddenly aware he’s got an audience.
“Look,” he says again, trying to regain ground.“I just want to see my son.”
That stops me for half a second.
Because that part?
That part matters.
But the way he says it—like he deserves something—makes my jaw tighten again.
“You want to see Evan,” I say slowly.
“Yeah.Yes.He’s my son.”
I turn to face Kelly.
“Okay, then here’s how this is going to work.”
I speak low enough that he can feel the weight of me looming over him.
“You request a meeting through your lawyer.We meet, you talk to Kelly like a human being.You stop running your mouth about things you clearly don’t understand.And you remember that every time you step anywhere near that kid…”
My voice drops another notch.
“…you answer to his mother first.”
I turn my head to stare at him when I say that last bit.And Mike’s gaze flicks nervously toward Kelly.Then back to me.
“After her,” I add softly, “you answer tome.”
