Chapter 3 - The Arrival of Arthur Vance
Vanessa froze on the top step of the portico, her silk dress fluttering in the freezing winter wind.
The silver-haired man ignored her entirely. He walked up the stone steps with heavy, unhurried strides, his leather boots clicking against the frost-covered granite. Behind him, two security directors flanked his sides like high-ranking military officers.
As my father reached the threshold of the foyer, his sharp blue eyes swept across the room.
He saw the broken crystal glass from the phone on the floor. He saw the Manila folder of divorce papers. He saw Adrian kneeling in the middle of the marble hall.
And then his eyes landed on my face—on the dark purple swelling spreading across my cheek, and the dry blood on my lip.
A violent, terrifying silence descended upon the entire estate. The wind outside seemed to die down, as if even the weather were afraid to make a sound in Arthur Vance's presence.
My father slowly walked past Vanessa, stepping into the grand hall. He handed his gold-headed walking stick to the guard behind him and stopped three feet from where Adrian was kneeling.
"So," Arthur Vance said. His voice was soft, conversational, yet it carried the weight of a granite slab crushing a insect. "You are Adrian."
Adrian looked up, his jaw trembling so violently his teeth clicked together. He knew that face. Every titan of global finance knew that face. Arthur Vance was the man who sat behind closed doors with central bankers, the man whose private hedge funds held sovereign debt notes for half of Western Europe.
"Mr... Mr. Vance..." Adrian gasped, attempting to bow his head toward the floor. "Sir... please... there's been a terrible misunderstanding... Evelyn and I... we had a private marital dispute... I lost my temper... she insulted my guest—"
CRACK.
Arthur Vance didn't use a riding crop. He didn't use an antique artifact.
He simply reached down, pulled Adrian up by his suit collar with astonishing strength for a man in his sixties, and slammed his open palm hard across Adrian's face.
The force of the blow knocked Adrian sideways onto the marble, sending his gold cufflinks skittering across the floor.
"You do not speak her name in my presence," Arthur Vance said calmly, pulling a white silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and neatly wiping his fingers. "You are an amoeba. A parasitic organism that my daughter picked up in a Parisian bistro because she felt sorry for your incompetence."
Adrian lay on his side, holding his bleeding nose, sobbing hysterically. "I'll sign... I'll sign whatever you want! Just don't destroy me! Please, Mr. Vance! I have debts! The private lenders in London... if they find out the guarantee is gone, they'll kill me!"
"I know," Arthur Vance said smoothly. "I bought those debt notes twenty minutes ago. I am now your sole creditor, Adrian."
Adrian's eyes opened wide with absolute horror.
"Which means," my father continued, turning his back on him and walking over to me, "that I own every breath you take for the next thirty years. Every dollar you ever earn, every asset you ever touch, every penny in any bank account you open anywhere on this planet will be attached to satisfy the $400 million personal indemnity penalty you now owe the Vance Trust."
My father reached out, his hand surprisingly gentle as he touched my uninjured cheek. His eyes softened, a rare, profound warmth breaking through his icy armor.
"Are you alright, my heart?" he asked softly.
"I'm fine, Dad," I said, offering him a tiny, reassuring smile. "It took me three years to realize you were right about him."
"Three years is a small price to pay for a permanent lesson," Arthur Vance said, kissing my forehead gently. "Your car is waiting. Your mother has prepared your old suite at the estate in Bedford. The medical team is already there to check your injuries."
"Wait!" Vanessa shouted from the doorway, her voice trembling with desperate greed. "What about me? I'm pregnant with Adrian's heir! You can't just take everything! He owes me child support! He owes me security!"
Arthur Vance didn't even turn his head to look at her. He merely gestured toward one of his security directors.
"Marcus," my father said.
Marcus stepped forward, pulling a thin tablet from his coat. "Miss Vanessa Reed. Formerly a senior associate at Barclays, terminated eighteen months ago for corporate espionage and insider trading. Current personal debt: $1.2 million, accumulated through luxury retail purchases and high-stakes gambling in Macao."
Vanessa's face went dead white.
"Furthermore," Marcus continued in a dry, monotonous voice, "our medical intelligence team accessed your private clinic records in Manhattan two hours ago. The pregnancy test you conducted last Tuesday returned negative. You are currently pretending to be pregnant to secure a financial settlement from Mr. Vale before his firm collapsed."
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Vanessa let out a strangled gasp, taking three fast steps back until her heel caught on the doorframe, sending her sprawling onto the cold stone of the portico.
"Throw them out," Arthur Vance said quietly, taking my arm and leading me toward the open front door. "Seize the house immediately. Lock the gates. Leave them with nothing but the clothes they are wearing."
