Chapter 807: Recognized

The pair of brown sheepskin boots was exceptionally fashionable, and naturally, quite expensive. Even among the wealthy residents of Ashton Road, few could afford them. As the crowd stared at Bernice’s feet, more whispers of suspicion rippled through them.

“They definitely look familiar. I swear I’ve seen these boots before. Let me think.”

“I remember now! Aren’t those Mrs. Hawthorne’s? She mentioned buying them in Capria. She’s always taking business trips down there. I asked her about them myself. It’s definitely her!”

Someone had finally placed the boots. They were simply too stylish to forget, and women were inherently sensitive to such things. Bernice’s chic wardrobe—frequently updated with the latest styles unavailable in Tristone—had long stirred resentment among her female neighbors. Beneath their envy and jealousy lay a simmering malice; they secretly hoped to see her stumble one day. Yet, despite their disdain, these women scrutinized her outfits, covertly trying to emulate her style. That was precisely why the sheepskin boots were so easily recognized.

A sudden hush fell over the crowd. Their expressions grew even more peculiar as they stared in silence at the woman on the ground. The longer they looked, the more certain they became. Even without the boots, that cascading wavy hair was a dead giveaway. The local women wore their hair either long and straight or cropped at the ears, perhaps with a tight perm at most. Only Bernice sported such glamorous, flowing waves. Combined with those sheepskin boots, who else could it be?

“Is that… Mrs. Hawthorne?”

A timid voice finally shattered the silence, dropping like a bomb that instantly reignited the crowd’s fervor.

“Sure looks like her. Why don’t we brush the hair back and take a look?”

“I’m not doing it. It’s filthy.”

“Just use a twig to lift it. I’ll go grab one.”

Eager volunteers hurried off to find a suitable stick. The rest of the onlookers completely forgot about their dinners, waiting with bated breath to see if it truly was Bernice.

Terrified, Bernice froze. She desperately wanted to scramble to her feet and flee as far away as possible so these neighbors wouldn’t see her face. But her hands and feet were bound, her body ached all over, and her strength was entirely sapped.

*What do I do?*

Panic clouded her judgment, turning her mind to mush. She couldn’t string together a single coherent thought. Hidden within the throng, Jacqueline Spann was just as frantic. She had run out to investigate the commotion, only to recognize her aunt at first glance. However, she didn’t dare step forward; claiming the woman would blow their cover instantly. But if someone brushed the hair aside, her aunt’s identity would be exposed anyway. Jacqueline felt her stomach twist into knots. Her normally sharp mind drew a complete blank.

A short distance away, Adrian Hawthorne and Goldie Thorne stood concealed behind a sprawling sycamore tree.

“Why hasn’t your old man shown up yet? Think he’s not home?” Goldie asked, a hint of disappointment in his voice. He had orchestrated this masterpiece and desperately lacked his prime audience.

Adrian sneered. “It doesn’t matter if he isn’t. With so many witnesses, someone is bound to give him a vivid play-by-play.”

In truth, Adrian felt a pang of regret as well. Nothing would be more satisfying than forcing his father to witness this humiliation firsthand. Unfortunately, Ethan Hawthorne was nowhere to be found. The entire Ashton Road neighborhood was out enjoying the spectacle, yet there was no sign of his father anywhere.

“Here he comes!” Goldie hissed excitedly.

Ethan Hawthorne strolled down the street at a leisurely pace. His relaxed expression suggested he was in an excellent mood.

Adrian grabbed Goldie’s arm, dragging him deeper into the shadows. They both widened their eyes, refusing to miss a single second of the impending show.

Ethan was indeed in high spirits. He was confident he could convince Goldie to collaborate and take down Quinn Chandler together. That way, he wouldn’t have to sell off his properties to raise capital. He wanted to hold onto those houses. Within thirty years at most, finding a home in Tristone would be nearly impossible, and the land would be worth its weight in gold.