Chapter 361: Chapter 361: Why Does That Sound So Familiar?
"No..." Old Mrs. Yeats was completely stunned. "President Sherman, you’ve misunderstood," she blurted out instinctively. "You’ve really misunderstood! My daughter-in-law is the artist. Did you listen to Estelle Lockwood spouting nonsense? She’s just a vile creature who can’t stand seeing the Yeats family thrive. She holds a grudge against us, so..."
"Why would she hold a grudge against the Yeats family? What reason does she have?"
President Sherman remained expressionless. "Besides, Old Mrs. Yeats, since we came here seeking a partnership, we naturally investigated everything thoroughly beforehand. Back when Mr. Silas Lockwood painted these works, he was living in Mr. Lynch’s home. Mr. Lynch watched him paint them with his own eyes. How is it that now, something Mr. Lynch witnessed personally has suddenly become a lie?
"The person who created those paintings back then was a man named Silas Lockwood. Yet now, the artist has magically turned into your daughter-in-law. Are you suggesting..."
President Sherman let out a scoff. "Are you suggesting that Mrs. Yeats is actually a man? Or did she undergo a sex change?"
PFFT.
Someone in the crowd couldn’t hold back their laughter.
Old Mrs. Yeats looked panicked and at a loss for words. Her face turned a sickly, ashen shade of pale. "This... this... Melody is the original artist. President Sherman, please don’t spout nonsense without evidence..."
"Are you saying that Mr. Lynch lied?"
President Sherman sneered. "With Mr. Lynch’s status, why would he need to lie? There is nothing he cannot have. If he didn’t cherish Mr. Silas Lockwood’s works, he wouldn’t have even bothered to come here for a partnership!
"What are you still trying to argue at this point? Do you really think Mr. Lynch would frame you?"
The crowd fell silent. They wondered why those words sounded so familiar.
Then, realization dawned on someone. Wasn’t that exactly what Old Mrs. Yeats had said to Estelle Lockwood earlier?
"No evidence? Are you saying that our Yeats family is lying? I am your elder! We have everything we could possibly want; why would we covet your father’s paintings?"
"So what if there’s no evidence? What I say is the truth!"
Claire Yeats looked flustered, biting her lower lip so hard that deep teeth marks indented the soft flesh. "No, President Sherman, you’re truly mistaken... I don’t know what Estelle told you to make you believe her so implicitly, but... but this is indeed..."
"What does this have to do with Miss Estelle Lockwood?" President Sherman asked.
Claire’s eyes turned red, as if she were deliberately showing off her grievances while simultaneously stepping up to represent the Yeats family to prove she was the only one worthy of being their eldest young lady. "Estelle just misunderstood. She mistakenly believed these were her father’s works, but in reality, she completely..."
"Miss Claire Yeats," President Sherman sneered. "Who do you think you are? I’m speaking with Old Mrs. Yeats. Why are you interrupting? The outside world says that when Estelle Lockwood returned to the Yeats family as the true biological daughter, you did everything in your power to make things difficult and obstruct her. I used to treat those rumors as a joke, but it seems they aren’t jokes at all. There truly are some people in the Yeats family who can’t tell right from wrong."
Tears streamed down Claire’s face. "I..."
"I already told you!" President Sherman cut her off. "It was Mr. Lynch who watched Mr. Silas Lockwood paint those works back then. Estelle wasn’t even born yet! So what does any of this have to do with Miss Lockwood?!
"Old Mrs. Yeats, perhaps my words carry too little weight, and you feel you can just use the Yeats family’s influence to suppress whatever I say. If that’s the case, then let us have Mr. Lynch explain it himself!"
The next moment, President Sherman stepped aside to clear a path.
The crowd froze and instinctively turned their heads.
A tall, upright figure approached with unhurried steps, exuding a natural sense of oppression. He wore a silver mask, his mere presence commanding awe without a hint of anger.
They wondered, "Is this... Mr. Lynch? Isn’t Mr. Lynch supposed to be fifty years old? Why is he so young?"
"Sir," President Sherman called out. His respectful demeanor immediately dispelled any doubts about Mr. Lynch’s identity.
Nathaniel Sloan swept his cold gaze across the room.
When it came to Silas Lockwood, the only real evidence was that suicide letter. However, if the Yeats family could fabricate lies without evidence, why couldn’t he?
He was merely giving them a taste of their own medicine.
Old Mrs. Yeats was stunned at first sight. She wondered, "Impossible. This is Mr. Lynch? How could he be so young?"
But a second later, she was thoroughly intimidated by his imposing aura. A drop of cold sweat actually rolled down her temple. "Mr... Mr. Lynch..."
"Since you know who I am, I won’t waste time on pleasantries."
Nathaniel slowly lifted his gaze. His light gray eyes radiated an aggressive, overbearing intensity.
"Tell me, Old Mrs. Yeats, why have the two hundred paintings and three hundred and twenty design drafts created by Mr. Silas Lockwood become the property of the Yeats family? Why has the true artist been labeled a thief, while the thieves are hailed as the artists? First, Mr. Lockwood’s works were used to gild Evan Yeats’s reputation, and now they’re being used to gild your daughter-in-law’s. Are you..."
Nathaniel paused. "...bullying two dead people?"
The crowd was instantly in an uproar.
Just moments ago... Estelle Lockwood had said the exact same thing! But she had been swiftly cut off by Old Mrs. Yeats’s "righteous" indignation.
But now, Mr. Lynch surely had no reason to falsely accuse Old Mrs. Yeats, did he?
"No, how could that be? You must be mistaken..."
"Old Mrs. Yeats, I, on the other hand, care about evidence. Unlike you, I possess concrete, tangible proof. If you refuse to admit it, I’ll have no choice but to take legal action."
Nathaniel continued in an indifferent tone, "As for Old Mr. Yeats... if he just takes a moment to think about it, he’ll likely realize whether these works truly belong to his daughter-in-law or to Mr. Silas Lockwood.
"Furthermore, the simplest solution is to ask Mrs. Yeats to recreate the paintings right now. Old Mrs. Yeats, you may choose one of these options to prove yourself."
How was she supposed to choose? How could she possibly choose?!
Many of the painters present also began to discuss amongst themselves.
"That’s right. Estelle Lockwood made this exact request earlier, but Old Mrs. Yeats claimed that Estelle’s entire family were thieves and that as the victims, they had no need to prove themselves."
"But now that Mr. Lynch has stepped forward to testify for Silas Lockwood and claims to have evidence... Honestly, Estelle’s suicide letter counts as evidence too. Silas is dead and can’t paint anymore, but Mrs. Yeats certainly can!"
"Mrs. Yeats still refuses to prove herself. Is she too afraid to?"
Everyone’s gaze fixed on Old Mrs. Yeats. Trembling all over, with cold sweat pouring down her face, she forced herself to calm down and feigned anger. "What a joke! These works are—"
"Old Mrs. Yeats, this is bad!"
The manager, who had looked incredibly smug just moments ago, suddenly jogged into the room. He looked panicked and gulped hard in terror.
"This is bad, this is really bad! On the internet, right now..."
"What’s going on? Speak clearly!" Old Mrs. Yeats, already looking highly agitated, grew even more impatient.
The manager originally wanted to whisper so they could discuss how to handle the public relations crisis first. But rushed by Old Mrs. Yeats, he panicked and instinctively blurted it out loud.
"Estelle Lockwood posted photos of those paintings on Weibo! Now... now everyone can see that Silas Lockwood’s name is on them... They’re all saying that the Second Young Master and his wife stole her parents’ paintings and are playing the victim..."