Chapter 2 - The Ring of Truth
The North Carolina rain was cool and relentless as Simone stepped out onto the sidewalk outside Bellamy’s. She stood under the brass awning, her hands wrapped around her elbows, shivering in her thin silk blouse.
Her phone rang in her purse.
She pulled it out, expecting Derek, or perhaps Aunt Patricia trying to apologize. Instead, the caller ID showed an unlisted 212 area code—New York City.
She almost declined it, but her thumb swiped the screen on instinct.
"Hello?"
"Simone Vance?" a man's deep, measured voice asked through the speaker. The background was quiet, devoid of the usual city noise, suggesting a high-floor executive office.
"This is Simone Carter," she said automatically.
A brief pause on the line. "Ah. You took his name. A minor administrative detail, but easily rectified. My name is Julian Thorne. I am the senior partner at Thorne, Sterling & Sterling in Manhattan."
Simone wiped a wet tear from her cheek with her sleeve. "If this is a sales call, I really can't talk right now."
"It is not a sales call, Miss Vance," Thorne said gently. "I am calling regarding your biological grandfather, Arthur Vance."
Simone froze under the awning.
Arthur Vance.
She hadn't heard that name in fifteen years. Arthur Vance was the legendary, reclusive founder of Vance Global Logistics—a multinational shipping and real estate conglomerate valued at over nine billion dollars. He was also the man who had disowned Simone’s mother twenty-five years ago after a bitter, highly publicized family feud.
"My grandfather died eight years ago," Simone said flatly. "Or so the news said."
"Arthur Vance passed away forty-eight hours ago at his estate in Greenwich, Connecticut," Thorne corrected smoothly. "The reports eight years ago were incorrect—a deliberate misdirection arranged by his security team to allow him to spend his final years in total seclusion."
Simone felt her throat go tight. "Why are you calling me? He didn't speak to my mother until the day she died. He ignored every letter I ever sent him."
"He read every letter, Simone," Thorne replied softly. "And he watched you very closely. In his final will and testament, executed three days before his passing, Arthur Vance designated you as the sole beneficiary of his personal holdings, including seventy-two percent of the voting shares in Vance Global."
The rain seemed to grow silent around her.
"What?" Simone whispered.
"You are now the controlling shareholder of an enterprise worth roughly twelve billion dollars," Thorne said. "However, there is a specific clause in the trust agreement that requires your immediate attention. Arthur was acutely aware of your marriage to Derek Patterson."
Simone’s stomach turned into a hard knot. "Derek."
"Arthur knew Mr. Patterson was a predator," Thorne said. "He had his intelligence team monitor your husband's financial movements for the last three years. Arthur knew about the offshore accounts in the Caymans. He knew about the secret marriage in the Bahamas six months ago."
"He knew?" Simone choked out. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"Because Arthur wanted to see if Derek would honor his vows, or if he would expose himself before the inheritance was made public," Thorne said. "If you were legally married to Derek Patterson at the time of Arthur's death without a prenuptial agreement, North Carolina marital property laws could have allowed Derek to claim up to fifty percent of your liquid estate in a divorce."
Simone gasped, leaning her back against the wet stone wall of the restaurant.
"The phone call I am making to you right now is timed precisely," Thorne continued, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp tone. "Arthur left instructions: the moment Derek Patterson declared your marriage dead—publicly and definitively—we were to file the emergency protective order and activate the financial locks."
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"He called me a liar," Simone said, her voice shaking with a mix of fury and awe. "He told twenty people I was his crazy ex-wife."
"Then he has walked directly into the gallows Arthur constructed for him," Thorne said. "A car is waiting for you at the corner of 4th Street and Tryon. Step inside, Miss Vance. Your life as Derek Patterson’s victim ended ten minutes ago."
