Chapter 4 - The Whispering GalleryFor the next four days, the penthouse became a fortress.
Outside, the press descended like vultures. Headlines dominated financial news outlets: "VANCE GLOBAL IN TURMOIL: CEO INSANE OR INCOMPETENT?" and "THE SILENT HEIR: HAS THE VANCE EMPIRE CRUMBLED?"
Inside, an extraordinary quiet descended.
Savannah didn't try to teach Leo to talk. She didn't give him therapies or tests. Instead, she spent hours sitting on the floor with him, disassembling complex antique clocks I had delivered to the penthouse.
For two years, Leo had refused to let anyone touch his hands. By Wednesday evening, I watched from the glass doorway as he gently laid a brass cog wheel into Savannah's open palm.
"He trusts you," I said, stepping into the room after Leo had fallen asleep on a pile of cushions, his small hand still resting on the sleeve of her dark blue sweater.
"He doesn't trust me," Savannah corrected, pulling a blanket over his shoulders. "He trusts pattern. When things are predictable, the world doesn't feel like it's going to explode."
I poured two glasses of scotch and held one out to her. She looked at it, then shook her head.
"I need my head clear, Mr. Vance."
"Julian," I said, setting the glass down on the marble counter. "Please. You saved my son on Monday. You saved my company. At least call me Julian."
She looked at me, her dark brown eyes studying my face with a intensity that made my chest tighten. "You still don't remember me, do you, Julian?"
A chill hit the back of my neck. "What do you mean?"
"Three years ago. Before the fire. Before Clara died," Savannah said, her voice barely above a whisper. "There was a young woman working as an intern at Vance Global's charity foundation. She discovered that fifteen million dollars meant for pediatric trauma centers was being funneled into private Cayman accounts."
My breath caught. "The insider whistle-blower..."
"She went to the CEO—to you," Savannah continued, stepping closer to me. "She thought you were a good man who was being lied to by his board. But twenty-four hours after she handed you those documents, her father's small logistics firm was bankrupted by emergency audits, her brother was arrested on planted drug charges, and she was blackmailed into signing a non-disclosure agreement."
I felt as if the room had suddenly lost all oxygen. "Savannah... I never saw those documents. Marcus handled all foundation paperwork. I swear to God—"
"I know," Savannah interrupted. "I didn't know it then, but I know it now. Clara told me."
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I stared at her, stunned. "Clara spoke to you?"
"The night she died," Savannah whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "She wasn't in the Hamptons by accident, Julian. She was coming to meet me with the real evidence."
