Chapter 6 - The Wounded King
Arthur Vance looked at the blue document in Cameron’s hand, then looked back through the glass window of Room 504.
For the first time in thirty years, the old titan’s hands trembled slightly against the mahogany head of his cane.
“You would destroy a forty-year partnership for a girl you don't even know?” Arthur asked, his voice suddenly sounding older, stripped of its public thunder.
Cameron took a step closer to the window, watching Hope show Clara a drawing of a yellow sun over a green house.
“I do know her, Arthur,” Cameron said softly. “In 2004, when my birth parents died and I was placed in St. Jude’s shelter in Rochester, a seven-year-old girl used to give me half her lunch every afternoon because she saw me sitting alone by the fence.”
Arthur blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. “St. Jude’s?”
“Your daughter spent three summers volunteering at that shelter with her mother before you pulled her out to attend private academy in New England,” Cameron said, turning back to face him. “She didn't know who I was. She didn't care that I was an orphan with torn shoes. She helped me because she had a heart that your money couldn't spoil.”
Arthur stared at Cameron, his throat working silently as the memory seemed to hit him like a physical blow.
“She was... seven,” Arthur whispered.
“And yesterday, her daughter was six when she grabbed my jacket in Terminal B,” Cameron said. “The Vance bloodline didn't lose its dignity when Clara left your house, Arthur. You lost yours when you locked the door behind her.”
Arthur stood frozen in the quiet hospital corridor.
His four security guards stood behind him, looking straight ahead, completely silent.
Slowly, painfully, Arthur reached into his coat pocket, pulled out an antique silver fountain pen, and uncapped it with a heavy click.
He pressed the blue document against the wall beside the elevator and signed his name across the bottom line in sharp, jagged black ink.
He capped the pen, handed the paper back to Cameron, and did not say another word.
He turned toward the exit, his cane striking the floor in a slow, heavy rhythm: clack... clack... clack.
At the end of the hall, near the sliding glass doors, Arthur stopped.
He didn't look back at Cameron. He looked at the reflection of Room 504 in the polished glass of the wall.
May you like
“Tell her...” Arthur’s voice was barely louder than a breath. “Tell her her mother’s house in Ocala has new solar heating. I had it installed last month.”
Before Cameron could reply, the old man stepped through the sliding doors and vanished into the morning rain.
