Chapter 359: Chapter 359: First Give Them Hope
At the art exhibition.
After Estelle Lockwood left, everyone watched a man in his fifties walk into the venue. Accompanied by a large legal team, his grand entrance made it immediately clear to everyone that he was the man about to collaborate with the Yeats family.
"It really is Mr. Lynch..."
"He’s just at the helm of a charitable foundation. Why is everyone trying to curry favor with him?"
"That’s what you don’t understand. Mr. Lynch just keeps a low profile. Look at the Yeats family’s attitude, and you’ll know that this Mr. Lynch is someone you cannot afford to offend. He holds immense power."
"Then why did Estelle leave? Is she unaware of Mr. Lynch’s formidable reputation?"
"Probably... As soon as she heard ’charitable foundation,’ she likely looked down on it from the bottom of her heart. Miss Lockwood really is something else. She made a mistake, falsely accused someone, and yet, not only did she refuse to apologize, but she also maintained such a terrible attitude..."
"Estelle is absolutely ridiculous for claiming Old Mrs. Yeats slandered her parents. Is that even necessary? Given who Old Mrs. Yeats is, why would she frame two people from the younger generation?"
Eager to curry favor with the Yeats family, many guests chimed in to belittle Estelle and elevate Old Mrs. Yeats’s status.
Old Mrs. Yeats was immensely gratified to hear this, while Claire Yeats’s eyes flickered with a calculating gleam.
She wondered if Estelle had simply given up. Had she actually just left?
The Yeats family knew the truth and certainly weren’t as naive as the guests. If Estelle gave up so easily, she wouldn’t be Estelle. But then again, she had no evidence...
Mr. Lynch had come knocking to collaborate... Wait, Mr. Lynch!
Claire understood now.
Estelle must have realized Mr. Lynch wasn’t someone to be trifled with, so she left in a hurry. She couldn’t afford the consequences of offending him.
At this thought, a relieved smile finally graced Claire’s lips.
"Old Mrs. Yeats," the middle-aged man said, stopping in front of her to introduce himself. "I am Mr. Lynch’s butler and assistant. I am here today regarding the collaboration."
No one felt that sending merely an assistant was a slight to the Yeats family. For one, this wasn’t a formal contract signing. For another, this assistant had a formidable reputation of his own. Though titled an assistant, everyone respectfully addressed him as Mr. Sherman or President Sherman.
Rumor had it that President Sherman was always by Mr. Lynch’s side as his right-hand man. More often than not, his word represented Mr. Lynch’s will.
Not daring to show any neglect, Old Mrs. Yeats beamed with joy. "So it is Mr. Sherman. Please, have a seat."
"There is no need, Old Madam. I am merely here today to pass on a message on behalf of Mr. Lynch." President Sherman offered a professional smile. "Since we wish to collaborate, it must be a multi-faceted and long-term partnership. It will involve a wide variety of categories, such as packaging, themed hotels, theme park murals, and so on. All of these will require subsequent development."
"Yes, yes, of course," Old Mrs. Yeats agreed, feeling immensely pleased with herself. She thought about how that biased old man always refused to let her and Evan interfere in the Yeats family’s affairs. But now, she and Evan were negotiating a partnership with Mr. Lynch!
How were they any worse than Quentin?
She also heard the continuous stream of compliments from the surrounding crowd.
"Congratulations, Old Madam."
"Indeed! I never knew Mrs. Yeats possessed such talent. If not for your persistence and Mr. Yeats’s efforts, her work might have remained buried forever."
"Mr. Yeats is also outstanding. Mrs. Yeats, you have a wonderful son!"
"Still, we must praise Mrs. Yeats for being a genius with such a gift for painting. Unlike some people who resort to stealing because they lack talent... Scoff, if that person weren’t already gone, I wouldn’t be speaking so politely today!"
"Sigh, my heart just aches for Mrs. Yeats. Her works were stolen and hoarded for no reason, and only now are they finally seeing the light of day. To make matters worse, the thief was a former friend who has already passed away. She couldn’t even vent her anger if she wanted to, since the dead must be respected."
"And Estelle Lockwood too..."
Evan Yeats hurriedly put on a hypocritical front. "Please, everyone, there is no need to say such things. One is my mother, and the other was my aunt. They were family and close friends. My mother never intended to blame my aunt. Estelle was just acting too impulsively. She is still young, so we won’t hold it against her."
"Being young isn’t an excuse to slander people..."
"Exactly. Besides, Miss Lockwood isn’t that young anymore. She’s only a year or two younger than Miss Claire, isn’t she?"
Smiles involuntarily surfaced on the faces of the Yeats family members.
Especially Old Mrs. Yeats and Evan. If Mr. Lynch chose Evan for this collaboration, the Yeats family would heavily promote him as well.
The guests’ chaotic chatter would have been difficult to decipher without listening closely. Therefore, no one realized that Mr. Sherman had heard every single word loud and clear, yet feigned ignorance—after all, President Sherman still had a performance to finish.
Mr. Sherman let out a gentle chuckle. "Old Madam, our Mr. Lynch is very fond of this artist’s style. Aside from the thirty pieces on display at this exhibition, he hopes you can provide a few more. I wonder if..."
Originally, the Yeats family had hidden those paintings in the basement, keeping them tightly under wraps. But now that the artist had been established as "Melody Jenson from twenty-five years ago," and the public had already seen the two hundred-plus paintings through Estelle’s photos, Old Mrs. Yeats changed her strategy.
"President Sherman, you may not know this, but this artist actually has over two hundred works in total."
"Over two hundred?" President Sherman looked pleasantly surprised. "That’s wonderful! If possible, I’d love it if you could show them to me when you have the time, Old Madam."
"No problem, no problem at all. Speaking of which..." Old Mrs. Yeats sighed. Adding embellishments with a passive-aggressive tone, she recounted the incident that had just occurred before finally saying, "Evan, come and meet President Sherman."
For the first time in his life, Evan felt like he was truly the center of attention, completely basking in the limelight.
In the past, everyone’s eyes had always been glued to Quentin. But now, he was the focal point.
"President Sherman."
President Sherman shook his hand, his expression growing visibly excited. "Old Madam, do you mean to say that Mr. Yeats is the artist’s son?"
"Of course..."
"Excellent, excellent! Initially, we wanted to contact the artist’s family, but since she has no relatives left, we approached the Yeats family instead. We figured that since these paintings were exhibited by Young Mr. Yeats, he must be acquainted with the artist. We never expected him to actually be her son!
"Allow me to ask, is Mr. Yeats an adopted son of the Yeats family? Or did Old Mr. Yeats adopt his sister’s child under his own name?
"Ah, but none of that matters! Since Mr. Yeats is the artist’s son, then we should let him take charge of this collaboration!
"After all, our Mr. Lynch specifically stated that this collaboration must be entrusted to the artist’s child. Otherwise, he won’t have peace of mind!"
As his words fell, a dead silence swept across the venue.
Mr. Sherman’s words were truly baffling.
What did he mean by asking whether Evan was adopted or taken in from Old Mr. Yeats’s sister?
He was neither! Mr. Yeats, Evan, was the biological second son of Old Mr. Yeats and Mrs. Yeats!
Seeing the venue fall silent, President Sherman acted as though he had said something wrong, purposefully asking in confusion, "This... what’s wrong? Is there a problem? Old Mrs. Yeats, if there is a problem, you must bring it up."