Chapter 360: Chapter 360: And Then, a Heavy Slap and Utter Despair
Old Mrs. Yeats hadn’t figured it out yet. She gave a dry laugh. "President Sherman, you must be mistaken. Evan is our..."
Claire’s mind had been racing, trying to figure out what Mr. Sherman meant. Then, a realization struck her, and her mind practically exploded. "Oh no, this is bad!" she thought. But she was already too late to stop Old Mrs. Yeats!
"President Sherman, what are you talking about? Evan is my biological grandson."
"What?" Mr. Sherman’s eyes widened in surprise, his expression screaming, *High society sure knows how to play games.* "Mr. Yeats is your grandson? Then who is your son? Does your son not have the surname Yeats?"
Wait, what was this all about? Why was everything Mr. Sherman said completely incomprehensible?
"President Sherman, you must be joking. Evan naturally took my son’s surname..."
"So, Evan’s father is a Yeats? He’s your biological son? Not an adopted son or something?"
How could the Head of the Yeats be an adopted son!
At this point, Mr. Sherman finally seemed to realize there was a misunderstanding. He furrowed his brows. "Wait, Old Mrs. Yeats. You said Evan is the artist’s son, but the artist clearly isn’t named Yeats..."
Old Mrs. Yeats seemed to understand. "Yes, yes, definitely not Yeats! President Sherman, the artist is Evan’s mother. Her name is Melody Jenson. Melody, come here, quickly."
Melody stepped forward with a smile and offered her hand. "Hello, President Sherman."
Mrs. Yeats suppressed the amusement in her eyes, making herself look utterly indifferent to fame or fortune. But only she knew how exhilarated she truly was at this moment. As for why she was so thrilled, that was also her own secret. Melody was a master of disguise. To outsiders, she was the unassuming, righteous Mrs. Yeats, but...
Just as Estelle had said, if Melody truly had a sense of justice, she wouldn’t be claiming credit for someone else’s work. She shouldn’t be showing her hand so soon, but she simply couldn’t hold back. After all, who could resist such a temptation? Who could say no to being the center of attention?
So, she accepted Old Mrs. Yeats’s proposal. Melody comforted herself internally, reasoning that she was only doing this for Evan. After all, Evan was her son, and she couldn’t just watch him be branded a thief, could she?
Mr. Sherman, however, remained silent for a long time.
Melody’s arm was getting tired, yet Mr. Sherman made no move to shake her hand. She let out an awkward laugh. "Mr. Sherman..."
Mr. Sherman’s expression turned glacial.
Everyone’s hearts skipped a beat. Old Mrs. Yeats stood up. "President Sherman, this is the artist. Melody isn’t familiar with these formalities and may have offended you. Please forgive her."
Melody bit her lip in frustration.
Mr. Sherman still didn’t speak. He narrowed his eyes. As someone accustomed to authority, he exuded an overwhelming sense of pressure. His gaze swept over Melody, Old Mrs. Yeats, and Evan like a sharp knife.
Melody sensed something was wrong and was about to speak when suddenly—
"Old Mrs. Yeats, are you certain this is the artist?"
The crowd held their breath, and the venue instantly fell into a dead silence. Anyone could hear the displeasure in Mr. Sherman’s voice. What was going on?
Old Mrs. Yeats had been flattered for far too long. People had always coddled and praised her, so she never learned how to read a room. For a moment, she completely missed Mr. Sherman’s displeasure and continued talking to herself.
"That’s right, it’s her. It’s just that Melody prefers to keep a low profile, so Evan has been managing things all these years. Evan is a dutiful child. If it weren’t for him..."
"Old Mrs. Yeats! I didn’t come here to listen to you brag about your daughter-in-law and grandson. I’ll ask you again! Are you absolutely sure this is the artist?!"
Old Mrs. Yeats’s expression faltered. "Of course..."
"Of course? Old Mrs. Yeats, I came with a sincere desire to collaborate, but there’s no need to deceive me! I asked you a second time, and you still say ’of course’? Don’t think I don’t know the artist is clearly a man, and his surname is Lockwood! Therefore, his son should also be named Lockwood. Yet Evan’s surname is Yeats, and you claim the artist is his mother!
"What a joke! Changing someone’s gender and surname out of nowhere—do you really think Mr. Lynch is a pushover? If you didn’t want to collaborate, you could have just refused. There was no need to spin such a convoluted web of lies, Old Mrs. Yeats!"
With that, Mr. Sherman turned to lead his people out.
Some people in the crowd began to catch on.
"A man named Lockwood? That... doesn’t that match exactly what Estelle said?"
"Yeah! Estelle said the artist was her father, and his name is Silas Lockwood... Isn’t that a man named Lockwood?"
"But Old Mrs. Yeats said the artist was Mrs. Yeats."
"Well, Estelle also said the Yeats Family took advantage of her parents’ deaths..."
The chatter of the crowd drifted into Old Mrs. Yeats’s ears, and she finally understood!
Evan’s breath hitched, while Claire clenched her fists. "This is bad," she thought, her face draining of all color. If the truth came out, and they were asked how they had stolen the paintings, she would be ruined. After all, she was the one who had given those paintings to Evan!
What should she do? What could she do now?
Old Mrs. Yeats suddenly found herself at a loss. This was such a golden opportunity. If she let President Sherman leave, everything would change! If President Sherman stayed, they would be the heroes of the Yeats Family who successfully negotiated a partnership with Mr. Lynch. If he left, they would be branded as art thieves—Sinners who slandered Eleanor and bullied Estelle because her parents were dead!
No, absolutely not!
How could President Sherman know? Silas and Eleanor had been dead for years. No one even knew where Silas had died; it was as if the man had vanished from the face of the earth. So how on earth did Mr. Lynch know? Then it clicked. Someone must have tipped off Mr. Sherman!
Old Mrs. Yeats forced herself up and hurried over to block Mr. Sherman’s path. "President Sherman, please wait! Did someone feed you idle gossip? It must be Estelle! She’s holding a grudge against us. Her parents were the ones who stole the paintings, yet she has the audacity to twist the truth. She really is a classless—"
"Estelle?" President Sherman acted as if it was the first time he had ever heard the name, and his performance was quite convincing. He seemed to seize on the crucial detail. "Her surname is Lockwood?"
Old Mrs. Yeats struck her cane against the floor. Disappointment and disgust filled her eyes. "That’s right, it’s her! She just made a huge scene, insisting the paintings belong to her father. In reality, it’s all nonsense, and you absolutely must not believe her! It was that shameless Silas who stole them..."
"Silas Lockwood!!" To everyone’s surprise, President Sherman grew even more agitated. "Miss Estelle’s father is Silas Lockwood?!"
The guest who was questioned choked on their words for a moment. "Y-Yes, that’s exactly what Miss Lockwood said earlier..."
"Miss Lockwood also said she had evidence, but... but Old Mrs. Yeats kicked her out..."
Old Mrs. Yeats couldn’t help but roar, "Estelle was just causing trouble—"
But it was too late. President Sherman was already asking the crowd frantically, "Excellent, excellent! Where is this Miss Lockwood? I’m going to find her right now!"
After saying that, he cast a disdainful glare at Old Mrs. Yeats. "Old Mrs. Yeats, from the very beginning, I knew the artist was a man named Lockwood. I thought the Yeats Family might be related to him, which was how you acquired his works. But to my surprise, you’re nothing but thieves, and you even drove the artist’s own daughter away!"