You kicked me out onto the street with the kids, but a year later you crawl back, begging for cash
Hello, dragonfly, a familiar voice crackles in my ear, sounding like its been aired on loop for days. Didnt expect me?
Evelyn freezes, a bottle of perfume still clutched in her hand. The air in the dressing room, heavy with sandalwood and the faint scent of triumph, suddenly feels thick and sticky, just like the stairwell where she spent a night a year ago with her children.
What do you want, Gordon?
She forces herself to speak evenly, refusing to glance at the snickering of Michael and Polly echoing from the nursery.
Straight to business. No how are you? or whats new? We arent strangers, Evelyn. Remember, we share two kids.
Gordon smiles. The grin grates her nerves like a rusty nail on glass. A whole year she hasnt heard that tone, the one that once backed his claim on her life.
I remember. What do you need?
Evelyn places the perfume bottle on the marble counter. Her hands tremble, but her voice stays steady. Shes learned that.
Money.
Brief, blunt. No apologies, no preamble. He hasnt changed.
You serious?
Do you think Im a joker? his voice snaps with anger. Ive got real problems, Evelyn. Serious ones. And you? Living the highlife, a mansion, a billionaire husband. The papers dont lie, do they?
She looks at herself in the mirror. A woman in a silk robe, hair styled in a pricey salon, not the exhausted, tearsoaked figure he dumped at the door with two bags of childrens stuff.
Is it a problem for your new dadtobe? Throwing a bit of life at your exhusbands wife?
My business isnt doing well, you know? I invested in crypto and it collapsed. I need cash to pay serious creditors.
Evelyn imagines Gordon delivering these lines, slumped in a chair with that same brazen grin, convinced shell crumble again. He thinks the guilt hes cultivated for years will finally work.
You left us on the street in the dead of winter, Gordon. Remember what Polly said when we were sitting at the station?
Spare me the melodrama. Im not asking for a mansion. £45,000. A pittance for you. Pay for my silence, if youre so keen.
Silence? About what?
About the price you paid for this sweet life. Do you think your boss, Mr. Oliver, will be thrilled if I tell him a few spicy details from our past?
The dressingroom door bursts open and David steps in, calm and impeccably dressed. He sees Evelyns face, frowns, and asks silently, All right?
Evelyn watches his caring gaze, while Gordons voice crackles in her ear. Two worlds collide: the one shes built, and the one hes trying to tear down.
So, Evelyn? Gordon presses on. Will you help a poor relative? If hes on his knees a year from now begging for money, things are really rotten.
She nods slowly at David, signalling that she has it under control. For the first time in this call, a cold, sharp edge replaces her fear.
When and where? she asks.
They arrange to meet in a bland coffee shop inside the local shopping centre. Loud pop music, the smell of popcorn, teenagers laughter the perfect spot for a scream that no one hears.
Evelyns habit is to solve problems where she least wants to stage a drama.
Gordon is already at the table, his suit trying to look expensive but flashing cheap fabric. He lazily stirs his juice.
Late, he says without looking up. Not very gentlemanly, making a father wait.
Evelyn sits opposite him, places her bag on the table and keeps her hands on it. Shes steadier now.
I wont give you £45,000, Gordon.
Really? he finally meets her eyes, envy flickering as he scans her dress and ring. Changed your mind? I could just call your David now. Getting his number is easy.
I could offer you £30,000 and a job. David has connections, he
Gordon laughs loudly, throwing his head back. A few nearby diners glance over.
A job? You think I, a businessman, will start doing interviews? Youve forgotten who I am, Evelyn. I need startup capital, not handouts.
His tone hardens, he leans forward and lowers his voice:
You sit here, all prim and proper. Do you think I dont know how you got there? You told him I was a monster, that you were a poor lamb. And that you called him a week before meeting him, begging to be taken back? Hell love hearing that.
Each word lands like a punch, aimed at her deepest fear that David will see her as the broken, dependent woman she once was.
Evelyn slides a cheque book across the table, still hoping for a compromise, still trying to settle nicely.
Ill write a cheque for £8,000, her voice is flat. Thats the most I can do. Take it and disappear from our lives. Please.
She hands him the paper.
Gordon picks up the cheque with two fingers, holds it to his eyes, studies it as if it were a jewel. Then, with a slow, satisfied grin, he tears it into four pieces.
You think thats a humiliation? he hisses. £8,000? Thats your thankyou for the years Ive wasted on you? For the kids?
He flings the fragments onto the glossy surface; they land like dead butterflies.
£45,000, Evelyn. Or I wont vanish. Ill become your curse. Ill call, text, turn up after school, tell the children who their real dad is. You have a week.
He stands, tosses a few crumpled notes onto the table for his drink, and leaves without looking back.
Evelyn sits motionless, staring at the torn cheque. The music booms, people laugh, but inside something hardens. Fear turns to icy resolve. The attempt at settlement fails, utterly and finally.
The week drags on like a punishment. She hardly sleeps, jerks at every ring. She searches for an exit, but dread clings like glue. She fears not only for herself, but for the life David has given her and the children.
On the seventh day he strikes.
When she picks the kids up from the art club, Polly is unusually quiet. At home, as she tucks her daughter into bed, Evelyn notices a bright lollipop in Pollys hand one she never bought.
Where did you get that, Polly?
The little girls eyes widen with fear as she whispers:
Uncle gave it to me today. He said hes my real dad and will soon take us away from bad Uncle David. Mum, arent we going to leave with Uncle David?
Something snaps inside Evelyn. Fear and panic evaporate, replaced by a cold, unyielding void that quickly solidifies into something hard and unbreakable.
He dared to approach her children. He used them.
Enough.
That evening, when David returns from work, a different woman greets him. Her eyes are dry, her stare straight and fierce.
We need to talk, she says, pushing him into a leather chair in the office.
She lays out everything: how Gordon forced her onto the street, how she spent nights in a stairwell, the humiliation, the years of terror that the past threatens to ruin the present, and how he approached Polly today.
David listens in silence; his face hardens with each sentence. When she finishes, he asks no questions. He simply
What do you want to do? he asks, voice steady, power hidden beneath calm.
I want him gone. Forever. But not the way he expects. Im not paying him. I want him to realize he made the biggest mistake of his life.
She looks straight into his eyes, seeing for the first time not just love and care but full approval of her darkest side.
Ten minutes later she dials Gordon. Her hands no longer shake.
I agree, she says evenly. £45,000. Tomorrow at noon. Ill send the address. Come yourself.
Gordons voice on the handset chuckles smugly:
Clever little pest. Its about time.
She hangs up. The address she will send is not a bank or a restaurant. Its the headquarters of David Ormistons corporation.
Gordon strides into the glassclad skyscraper, swaggering in his best suit, admiring the cold luxury of the lobby. He walks on his money, on his twisted sense of justice.
They escort him to the fortieth floor, into a boardroom with floortoceiling windows that make the city look like a toy set.
Evelyn already waits there, seated at the head of a long table, composed and calm in a dark navy dress. Beside her sits David, and a few feet away a sternfaced security chief, Simon.
Have a seat, Gordon, Evelyn gestures to the chair opposite.
Gordons confidence wavers. He expected a scared woman with a suitcase of cash.
Whats this circus? he nods toward David. A family council? I thought wed made a deal.
You made a deal with my family, David replies evenly, never breaking his intense stare. This is something else.
Evelyn slides a thick dossier across the table.
£45,000, Gordon. You wanted it. But just handing it over is too dull. Weve decided to invest it in you, as a venture.
Gordon stares at the folder, bewildered.
What is that?
Your business, explains Simon, the stonecold head of security. Or rather, whats left of it: debts, a couple of fraud cases on the brink of exposure. Highrisk assets.
He opens the file. Copies of court orders, bank statements, photographs of his meetings with unsavory characters flick through his eyes. His complexion shifts.
Weve settled your most urgent debts, Evelyn continues. The people who wouldnt wait for a verdict. Consider it a gift. In return
David places several sheets and a pen on the table.
In return you sign this. Full renunciation of parental rights and a threeyear employment contract.
Gordon erupts in a nearmanic laugh.
Are you insane? Working for you?
Not for you, David clarifies. For one of our subcontractors. In Yorkshire. Foreman on a construction site. Decent pay, solid conditions. Youll be back after three years, debtfree, with a clean record.
Youve got to be kidding! Gordon shouts, standing, fists clenched. Ill ruin you! Ill tell everyone!
Tell, Simon taps the folder with his finger. After that, your words will be worth less than this paper. And these documents will end up on a detectives desk today. The choice is yours.
Gordon scans their faces: Evelyns calm, Davids iron, Simons impassive. No doubt, no chance. Hes trapped.
He collapses into the chair, bravado evaporating like cheap gold plating. The predator is now a cornered jackal.
His hand trembles as he picks up the pen.
When the final signature lands, Evelyn rises, walks around the table and stops directly in front of him.
You said if a man comes crawling on his knees a year from now, his business is doomed, she reminds him quietly.
Youre not on your knees, Gordon. Just the floor is too pricey here. Youve got your startup capital. Begin a new life.
She turns and walks out without looking back. David follows, laying a hand on her shoulder.
In the vast boardroom, under the indifferent gaze of the security chief, the defeated man remains seated. The winner has lost everything.
