Regretting the Wife He Threw Away novel Chapter 237

News of Quentin being taken away by detectives spread like wildfire through Northborough’s upper crust.

Lauren was in the middle of afternoon tea with the other ladies when Mrs. Quinlan suddenly let out a gasp.

“Lauren, isn’t this your eldest son?” she exclaimed, turning her phone toward her.

Lauren snatched the phone, her heart pounding. On the screen was a photo of Quentin being escorted away by two detectives. He had draped his coat over his hands, but anyone with half a brain could guess what was hidden underneath—handcuffs.

“This… this can’t be!” Lauren stared at Mrs. Quinlan in disbelief. “Where did you get this?”

“From the ladies’ group chat, of course!” Mrs. Quinlan replied, retracting her phone with almost gleeful certainty. “The photo’s the real deal. Lauren, you’d better hurry home and check on things. Quentin’s holding the whole Lockwood family together right now—if he’s really in trouble, your family is going to be in a world of pain!”

Lauren’s face paled. She grabbed her purse and rushed out without another word.

The other women watched her go, their eyes sharp with disdain.

Mrs. Prescott sniffed. “Saul only has Quentin, and now Saul’s an invalid. If Quentin ends up behind bars, that’ll be the end of the Lockwood family.”

Helga gave Mrs. Prescott a sidelong glance, her tone loaded with meaning. “Not so fast. If the Lockwoods fall, that might not be such a good thing for you, either.”

“Helga’s right,” Mrs. Quinlan chimed in. “That Mrs. Lockwood is a piece of work. Word is, before she married into the Lockwoods, she was tangled up with the last heir of the Kensingtons. He died, and she waltzed right into the Lockwoods’ arms.”

Mrs. Prescott wrinkled her nose. “Some women are just born schemers, always using men to climb up. Seems like every man she’s ever gotten close to has met a bad end.”

Helga sipped her tea, smirking. “Men only behave themselves when they’re six feet under, ladies. So, a word to the wise—keep your wits about you.”

...

That afternoon, Mrs. Prescott returned home to find her youngest son, Jason, jangling his car keys as he prepared to head out.

Of her three sons, this one was the hardest to keep in line.

“Dinner’s almost ready—where are you going?” she demanded, stepping in his way.

“Out on a date,” Jason replied, whistling as he grinned, all carefree swagger. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Hold on!” Mrs. Prescott tugged his sleeve. “Did you hear about Lockwood’s eldest?”

“Yeah, just heard,” Jason said, eyeing her curiously. “How do you know already?”

“Everyone’s talking about it!” Mrs. Prescott sighed, frowning. “Aren’t you close with Clarke’s youngest? Have you asked him what’s going on?”

“Ethan’s been abroad these last few days,” Jason replied, giving her a look. “Mom, what’s gotten into you? Why do you suddenly care about Quentin Lockwood? We don’t even do business with the Lockwoods.”

“I’m just asking. The Lockwoods are hanging by a thread with Quentin holding things together. If something happens to him, that’s it for them.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Good riddance! They’ve always treated Rosita like dirt—if the Lockwoods go under, it’s nothing but karma.”

“Honestly, Jason! You’re almost thirty—when are you going to grow up?”

“I’ll be late for my date if I keep standing here. My girlfriend’s going to kill me!”