The heavy double doors of the study flew open, and Evelyn Vance—Damon's mother—strode into the room, her designer clothes pristine and her face twisted in rage.
Evelyn: Damon! What is the meaning of this insolence? My cards were rejected at the club! The bank says you locked me out of the family trust!
Damon: Hello, Mother.
Evelyn: Don't 'Hello Mother' me! And why is this trash sitting in your office?
Evelyn pointed a manicured finger at Clara, who instinctively shrank back into her chair.
Damon: Watch your tongue in my house, Evelyn.
Evelyn: Your house? I built this empire with your father! You have no right to cut me off because of this gold-digging secretary!
Damon: You lied to me for seven years. You told me Clara took five hundred thousand dollars and ran away with another man.
Evelyn: She did! She was a nobody who wanted our family fortune!
Marcus: Mrs. Vance, we have the original threat letters you sent to Miss Clara, including the fraudulent legal claims prepared by your lawyer.
Evelyn: That’s a lie! She forged those!
Damon: I have a daughter upstairs, Evelyn. My daughter. The grandchild you hid from me and left to starve on the street.
Evelyn: She's not a real Vance! Look at them! They're paupers!
Damon: She is more of a Vance than you will ever be. Marcus, file the criminal charges first thing tomorrow morning.
Evelyn: You wouldn't send your own mother to prison!
Damon: Try me. Security, escort Mrs. Vance off my property. She is never allowed back on these grounds again.
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