Vincent Lowell's expression turned thunderous. "You'd better have proof for those kinds of accusations," he snarled through clenched teeth.
Denial was his only play here.
To the astonishment of everyone present, Scarlett Lopez produced a tiny spy camera. "Every disgusting thing he did to me is right here," she announced, holding it up like a trophy.
Though tear tracks still glistened on her cheeks, there was no mistaking the victorious glint in her eyes.
The group of burly men exploded at her revelation. "You son of a bitch! Sleeping with my wife?" The largest one cracked his knuckles. "Let's teach this bastard a lesson!"
They descended on the car like a pack of wolves, pounding on the windows with meaty fists.
I fully expected Vincent to reach for his phone and call 911. Instead, he shocked me by asking, "How much to make this go away?"
"Fifty grand. Take it or leave it," the ringleader spat.
Vincent motioned for them to step back. "Fine," he conceded through gritted teeth, shooting Scarlett a look that could curdle milk.
The man who'd always danced just out of trouble's reach had finally been cornered.
After transferring the money and unceremoniously dumping Scarlett onto the curb, Vincent barked, "Drive. Now."
I stomped on the accelerator until their angry faces disappeared from view. Only when we were blocks away did Vincent finally erupt. "Those goddamn con artists! Extorting money like that—they belong behind bars!"
Watching his meltdown, I couldn't help but point out, "You didn't have to pay. We could've involved the police. What were they going to do?"
"Are you brain dead?" Vincent snapped. "If this hit the police blotter, your sister-in-law would hear about it. My reputation would be toast! She might clean me out in divorce court!"
His priorities were crystal clear.
I kept my mouth shut.
Even in marriage, it seemed, people were constantly playing chess with each other's lives.
Then Vincent's beady eyes landed on Olivia Evans trembling in the backseat. "Pull over," he commanded.
The moment the car stopped, he wrenched the door open and tried to physically haul her out.
"Get the hell out, you walking bad luck charm! What kind of woman shows up at a construction site dressed like she's working the street corner?"
Olivia dissolved into sobs. "Please, Mr. Lowell, I'm begging you. I need this job. Here—take everything I have!"
She frantically emptied her wallet—maybe three hundred bucks in crumpled bills.
Vincent snatched the money while still cursing a blue streak. "That bitch should've died in that accident. Nothing but trouble since day one."
His vile rant continued unabated.
I stole a glance at Olivia in the rearview mirror. The way she folded into herself, making her small frame even smaller, spoke volumes about her terror.