The woman nearest to the doorway halts her hand mid-air, just about to knock.
Rhett stares at them, gaze carved in stone. The woman shivers and lowers her hand.
"What do you need?" he asks flatly. Beside him, Neva steps forward, quietly bracing for the scene about to unfold.
The plump woman clears her throat, summoning what little courage she can. "How indecent! Shouldn't your conscience at least stretch to the juveniles in wheelchairs?!"
"We see them. Anything else?" Rhett asks, arms crossed, voice cool. Neva glances up at him as he waits for the inevitable reply.
The frailer woman beside the plump one appears uneasy.
"You two are atrocious! You hurt our children and make so apathy! Look at my precious, only son!" the plump woman screeches, yanking forward the wheelchair now fully in view.
The boy in it is battered—his face a map of bruises and healing cuts, the signs of a brutal beating still fresh despite a month of recovery.
Neva recognizes him. The same one who tried to trap her that traitorous evening.
"They paid for what they did," Rhett says, unpleasantly calm.
The plump woman scoffs. "Unbelievable! My son woke up after a month in a coma! And the same happened to Mrs. Blake and Mrs. Clarke's boys!" Her body shakes with rage.
"If you're finished, leave," Rhett says, extending his hand toward the door.
The plump woman's eyes widen, round as the porcelain saucers Neva had used that morning when Mrs. Barlowe dropped by.
"How indecent! You can't even offer respect to elders! You won't invite us in?!"
Her real motive begins to show, her voice cracking as she tries to raise a storm in their home.
Her son—barely recognizable—seems embarrassed to be there.
"Enough. Get out," Rhett says, annoyed.
"We will not!" Mrs. Griffin snaps, though clearly afraid.
She shoves the frail woman beside her. "Mrs. Blake! Speak up!
You do not lack a tongue I believe? Quit standing like a scarecrow!"
Mrs. Blake flinches. "We... we just wanted you to apologize to our sons," she murmurs, not meeting their eyes.
Mrs. Griffin groans in disgust at her timid tone.
"There's no reason for us to apologize," Rhett cuts in, stopping Griffin mid-snap. "If that's all, leave."
Mrs. Griffin's nostrils flare. "So that's how it is?! We'll file a complaint! You think we'll let this go? I demand compensation!"
Neva squints her eyes, she knew it was coming. But still, these grown women being so shameless is beyond her understanding.
Rhett sighs.
All this theatre, and they finally reveal their reason for this charade. "You want money."
He's well aware the brats were dragged from the hospital the moment they regained consciousness, all to sniff out weakness—hoping to extort something.
Mrs. Griffin's eyes flicker with greed. Maybe he's giving in?
But Mrs. Blake stiffens. Something feels wrong.
"Mrs. Griffin," she whispers, tugging at her sleeve, "I think we should go…"
Mrs. Griffin scoffs. "Have you lost your mind?! Look what these savages did to our boys! They—"
"Shut up!" Rhett snaps, slamming his hand against the doorframe. Neva flinches.
All four women recoil in fear. Rhett's composure finally cracks.
"One more word out of your rotten mouth and I'll throw you out myself," he growls, eyes glinting.
"You—you dare threaten me?! I've been too patient! I'm calling the police!" Mrs. Griffin fumbles inside her purse for her phone.
"You won't," Neva says coldly. "How much do you want, Mrs. Griffin?"
Rhett turns to her, frowning. She meets his gaze and gives a subtle blink, calming him.
Mrs. Griffin smirks. "Scared now, are we? Trying to avoid jail?"
Neva lifts her chin. "We've committed no crime. Your son, on the other hand, tried to do unspeakable things to me. They all did. I'm sorry, but they just atoned for their sins"
Mrs. Griffin turns scarlet. "Lies! You seduced them! It's your fault!"
"I seduced no one," Neva replies, voice hard, fists coiled. "If you truly loved your son, you'd have raised him better. I'm sorry you can't see what he's become."
"Insolent girl! Who are you to lecture me?! I should have you jailed!"
She means it—but deep down, she knows she only came for money.
The lawsuit threat was just a game. But now, her temper blurs all strategy.
"I won't spend more time in jail than your husband or son will," Rhett says coolly.
Mrs. Griffin stiffens. "Wh-what nonsense are you spewing?"
"To make it simple," Rhett says, pulling out his phone. "I have enough evidence to drown your entire family. Your husband's affairs. His embezzlement. Gambling. And your son? Bullying. Sextortion. Substance abuse. Attempted rape."
He swipes through the files, showing proof in brief flashes.
"And you, Mrs. Lucy Griffin? I have plenty on you, too. Care to hear the list?" His voice is flat, his gaze hard.
All four of them blanch.
"You—you're bluffing!" Mrs. Griffin yells, voice breaking.
Rhett tucks his phone back. "You're headed straight for prison.
Your hobbies—grooming underage boys, among others—are well-documented."
Mrs. Griffin shrieks. Her red face contorts in horror. Even Mrs. Blake trembles.
Mrs. Blake clutches her son's wheelchair. "Mrs. Griffin... let's go. Please."
Mrs. Griffin shoves her and glares at Neva. "You're the one who tempted my son! You whore!"
"I'm not!" Neva cries. Her face burning.
Rhett's fists curl.
"If you don't get your act together, I'm afraid you'll lose your son to something worse." Neva warns.
But Mrs. Griffin's thick pride hears none of it.
She opens her mouth to lash back—and finds a gun aimed straight at her forehead.
Her breath catches. Words die in her throat.
"Get out," Rhett commands. "Take the garbage in the wheelchairs with you. And don't ever come back."
The women stand frozen.
"We—we'll go," Mrs. Blake stammers, pushing her son away as fast as her legs allow.
Mrs. Griffin stumbles after them, red-faced and defeated.
"Wait until that whore leaves you for another man!" she screams as she climbs into the cab.
Rhett nearly lunges after her, but Neva gently presses her hand to his arm.
"These.are just words of vengeance," she says flatly. "Don't worry about it."
She shuts the door with a quiet, final click.