"You think this little stunt requires my attention? Evangeline graduated top of her class. She knows what she's doing. It's a minor procedure. Don't think you can use your connection to me to hog medical resources."
"My mother's birthday gala is in three days. I still have a surprise and a party to plan for her. I don't have time for your nonsense."
The line went dead.
I was about to redial when a notification popped up on my screen. Clay had just posted on social media.
I tapped it open. Three minutes ago. A beautifully designed birthday gala invitation, accompanied by a caption dripping with filial devotion: "Three days from now, I'm hosting a birthday celebration for the mother I love and admire most. Wishing her health and happiness for every year to come, and sweetness for the rest of her days."
I hit the like button.
The fury from being humiliated moments ago dissolved, replaced by something quieter. Curiosity.
When he found out that his mother was the one on Evangeline Fox's operating table—that his beloved mother was the one being carved open like a lab specimen—what kind of reaction would this devoted son have?