Chapter 3 - THE HOSPITAL AND THE HOUNDS
I unlocked the study door and walked out into the foyer, leaving Ivan frozen like a marble statue in the middle of his office.
As I walked out the front doors of the estate, the backyard party was already collapsing into total chaos. Guests were rushing toward their luxury sedans and sports cars, whispering frantically into their phones, eager to spread the shocking gossip across the city's country clubs before sunset.
I got into my white Audi, started the engine with one hand, and drove directly to the emergency room at St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital downtown.
Ten minutes after I checked into the ER, the medical staff took one look at my hand and immediately moved me into a trauma bay.
"Second-degree burns across the entire palmar surface," the emergency physician muttered, his face dark with concern as he examined the angry, weeping blisters. "Thermal contact injury. How did this happen, Mrs. Sterling?"
"My husband forced my palm onto an open commercial grill," I said, my voice entirely flat, without a single tear.
The doctor looked up sharply, exchanging a grim look with the trauma nurse standing beside him. "We are legally required to report this to law enforcement."
"Good," I replied. "Please make sure the medical record includes high-resolution photography of every single blister, the exact surface area percentage, and a full forensic statement."
While the nurse began carefully debriding the damaged skin and applying silver sulfadiazine ointment before wrapping my entire hand in heavy white gauze, the door to the trauma bay opened.
A tall, elderly man in an immaculate navy pinstripe suit stepped inside. He had thick silver hair, sharp hazel eyes, and carried a heavy leather briefcase.
Arthur Vance.
"Nora," Arthur said, his voice deep and comforting. He walked straight to my bedside, taking my uninjured right hand gently in his. "My team reviewed the cloud footage twenty minutes ago. It's monstrous. Absolutely monstrous."
"Did the footage capture the audio clearly?" I asked, looking up at him through the haze of pain medication the nurse had administered.
"Every single word," Arthur assured me, pulling a tablet from his briefcase. "Ivan's voice stating 'You call this edible?', the sound of the contact, your scream, and his mother encouraging him—it's all there in pristine quality. My criminal law partner, Detective Miller, has already drafted the emergency protective order."
"Good," I breathed, leaning my head back against the thin hospital pillow. "What about the company?"
Arthur smiled—a slow, predatory expression that reminded me why he had been my father's most trusted legal advisor for thirty years.
"Ivan called an emergency board meeting for tomorrow morning at nine o'clock," Arthur said, tapping the tablet screen. "He sent a panic email to all directors claiming you suffered a 'psychotic episode' at the house, destroyed private property, and that he is filing for emergency conservatorship over your assets."
I let out a soft, bitter laugh that turned into a cough. "Conservatorship? He really thinks he can play that game?"
"He thinks you are powerless, Nora," Arthur said smoothly. "He believes that because he holds the title of CEO, he controls the board. He has no idea that fifty-eight percent of Vanguard’s voting stock is held in the Sterling-Vance Master Trust, of which you are the sole living trustee."
"Has the board received his email?" I asked.
"Yes. And twenty minutes ago, I sent a reply to every single member of the board on your behalf," Arthur murmured, leaning in close. "I invited them to a special shareholder summit tomorrow morning at eight-thirty—thirty minutes before Ivan's scheduled meeting."
"What did you tell them?"
"I told them that the majority shareholder of Vanguard Development will be exercising her legal right to restructure the executive board," Arthur smiled wicked. "And I attached a three-minute video clip from your backyard barbecue."
The door to the trauma bay opened again, and two uniformed police officers stepped inside, holding clipboards.
"Mrs. Nora Sterling?" the senior officer asked. "We're here regarding a domestic violence report filed by St. Jude's medical staff."
May you like
I looked at the officers, then looked at Arthur Vance, who stepped forward with a crisp white business card held between his fingers.
"Officers," Arthur said smoothly. "My name is Arthur Vance. My client is ready to press full criminal charges for felony domestic assault, battery, and reckless endangerment."
