Chapter 62: No Longer Jackson’s Pawn

Owen clenched his jaw so hard it felt like his molars might crack. “Elsie’s about to marry into the Powell family. If you screw this up on purpose again, then as far as I’m concerned—you’re not my sister.”

Yunice, holding the bowl of fish food, flung a whole handful into the pond like she was chucking her anger right in with it. She clearly didn’t give a damn about Owen’s threat.

I had nothing to lose. Bring it on. I wasn’t scared of anyone’s dress shoes when I was already barefoot.

Owen didn’t bother arguing anymore. He turned back toward the hall.

Paul was at the doorway, pacing like a gossiping hen. Every few seconds, he stuck his neck out, trying to eavesdrop on whatever was going on inside.

Everyone was dying to know what the heck had gone down in there—what could have made Jackson do a full 180 and suddenly let Wyatt off the hook?

Inside the main hall, Jackson told Linda to shut the doors. The crystal chandelier cast a sharp glow over everything as Jackson stepped forward, his figure dark and looming over Wyatt. His voice was low, suspicious. “You took the Western Suburbs deal?”

That patch of land was chaos—completely lawless. Silverburgh’s power players had been fighting over it for years. Everyone wanted it, and no one could take it. And yet, somehow, Wyatt had pulled it off. The Wellinges Group was already celebrating with champagne. The Powell family? Dead last to hear about it.

Jackson locked eyes with Wyatt and felt a chill work its way down his spine. He’s got that same cold fire I had at his age. But it didn’t matter how sharp or ruthless Wyatt was. The Powell family would only ever have one heir. Let the side branches grow too tall, and they start choking the crown. Jensen—his eldest—had already lost to Wyatt one time too many. And now Wyatt had gone and claimed the Western Suburbs too…

Wyatt caught the scheming in Jackson’s eyes and let out a dry laugh. “You’re trying to have me killed so you can take the Western Suburbs land for yourself?”

Jackson didn’t say a word. No guilt. No denial.

Still kneeling, Wyatt leaned back with that signature devil-may-care attitude. “Without me, you really think that loser Jensen can handle the Western Suburbs?”

Jackson’s eyes twitched. Behind his back, his fist clenched until the joints cracked.

Wyatt smirked. “Whoever takes the Western Suburbs becomes a target. I was willing to risk it. You people at the Powell house? You’d never dare.”

Jackson’s face went pale. Wyatt had nothing to lose. But the Powell empire? It was too bloated, too big to gamble like that.

Wyatt saw him falter. With no rush, he grabbed his cane and pushed himself up from the ground—slow, deliberate, unshaken.

He was young. Jackson wasn’t. No matter how fierce Jackson had been in his heyday, time had curved his spine. And now Wyatt stood tall, looking down at him.

Jackson’s jaw was tight. Even knowing the Powell family was now at a disadvantage, he still had the audacity to propose terms. “Hand the Western Suburbs over to Jensen. You can support him from the side.”

Wyatt scoffed and rolled up his sleeves. “You’re out of your damn mind.” I nearly died getting that land. And now I’m supposed to gift-wrap it for Jensen?

Jackson’s eyes sharpened with menace. “What about the stuff you left with me? You ready to lose that?”

Wyatt shrugged. “You’ve been holding that over me for years. Don’t you think it’s time you found a new move?”

Jackson blinked, stunned. He never thought Wyatt would stop flinching at that particular threat.

Panic crept in fast. He couldn’t get rid of Wyatt, but he couldn’t control him anymore either. And now the whole situation was slipping out of his hands.

Wyatt saw it hit him and grinned. “Next time, don’t let Paul land in my lap. Or I’ll make sure he learns what it’s like to walk with a limp.”

Jackson’s face went stone-cold. Not a word in return. He got it now. The days of keeping Wyatt under his heel were gone—and they weren’t coming back.

Jackson watched Wyatt walk away—calm, unshaken, every step solid. Panic finally set in. He yelled, desperate now. “Forget the Western Suburbs for a second. But your marriage? That needs to happen! Paul’s already grown. He can’t get married before his own uncle!”

Wyatt gave a dry scoff, never slowing down. “Paul’s love life isn’t my darn problem.”

Jackson was out of cards and still went all in. “If you go get married—get the papers signed—I’ll return what’s yours.”

Wyatt stopped for the briefest moment, then answered without even looking back. “Suit yourself.”

The heavy front doors swung open. Bright light poured in and lit him up. Jordan stood waiting outside. He flicked out his blazer and gently laid it across Wyatt’s back, covering the bruises as they walked on.

Paul stood there with his arms crossed, cold-eyed and seething.

Wyatt hadn’t even looked at him on the way out—and that stung worse than a slap. He turned to Linda. “Madam Linda, what did Grandpa say to him?”

Linda usually bent over backward for Paul. She rarely said no to him. But this time, she just gave a small shake of her head. Jackson had sent her away too. Whatever went down in that room—she didn’t hear it either.

Paul’s stomach twisted with frustration. Next time, I swear, I’m gonna make Wyatt eat dirt in front of everyone.