Chapter 5 - The Family ReunionJulian walked into the executive study a minute later, tossing his leather briefcase onto the mahogany sofa with a familiar, easy grin.
“Well, cousin,” Julian said, pulling out a chair and sitting down without waiting for an invitation. “I fly in from London for twenty-four hours to check on corporate security, and I walk into the middle of a high-society soap opera. You certainly know how to keep things interesting.”
I poured a second cup of coffee and pushed it across the desk toward him.
“If you came all the way across the Atlantic just to mock my domestic arrangements, you wasted your air miles, Julian,” I said, leaning back in my leather chair.
“Mock you? Never,” Julian laughed, taking a sip of the dark roast. “I came because the Board in London caught wind of the audit you triggered. They wanted to know if you were finally ready to step out of the shadows permanently and assume your rightful place as global CEO of the entire Vance International conglomerate.”
For eight years, I had deliberately kept a low profile in the United States, managing Apex Holdings under a secondary corporate identity while letting Spencer take the spotlight. It had been my way of trying to live a normal life—to prove to myself that I could be loved for who I was, not for the empire behind my name.
Now, that illusion had burned to ashes in a single afternoon.
“And if I say yes?” I asked, meeting his gaze steadily.
“Then we restructure every single domestic and international subsidiary, wipe out the regional parasites like Spencer’s shell companies, and expand our healthcare initiatives globally,” Julian said, his eyes flashing with sharp intelligence. “By the way, did you know your darling ex-husband didn't just embezzle corporate funds for himself? He was secretly transferring company assets into a numbered offshore account in the Cayman Islands under Penelope’s name to hide them from tax authorities.”
My eyebrows raised slightly. “Are you certain?”
“Positive. My forensic team traced the digital fingerprints this morning. The moment Arthur Vance finds out his precious daughter helped conceal stolen corporate funds, Penelope’s family is going to disown her faster than a bad stock.”
Before I could answer, a sharp knock echoed at the study door.
Mr. Miller stepped inside, looking slightly flustered.
“Madam Chairwoman, we have a visitor at the side entrance. It’s... it’s Penelope Vance.”
Julian chuckled softly. “Talk of the devil.”
“Send her in,” I said smoothly. “I want to see what a sinking princess looks like without her gold crown.”
A moment later, the door swung open. Penelope walked in, but the arrogant, designer-clad bride from Saturday had completely vanished. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, she wore a simple oversized hoodie, and her eyes were red and swollen from crying.
She looked at me, then at Julian, and slowly dropped her gaze to the floor.
“Laura,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I know you have every reason to hate me. I know I was arrogant, and I know I played a part in... in all of this.”
“Save the dramatics, Penelope,” I said, resting my elbows on the desk. “You thought you were marrying a millionaire and stepping into high society. Instead, you hitched your wagon to a criminal who is about to face federal indictment. Why are you here?”
Penelope reached into her canvas bag and pulled out a heavy flash drive, placing it gently on the edge of my desk.
“My father is going to cut me off completely. He’s already freezing my personal trusts,” she said, her voice breaking. “Spencer gave me this drive last night before he passed out on the sidewalk. It contains the encrypted access codes to every single offshore account he set up behind your back—including the money he stole from your personal accounts over the past three years.”
Julian leaned forward, picking up the flash drive with two fingers as if it were a venomous snake. “And why should we trust you, my dear? For all we know, this is a trap or a decoy.”
“Because I hate him more than you do,” Penelope spat, her eyes suddenly flashing with bitter hatred. “He used me. He told me his wife was just a cold, barren corporate drone who didn't deserve a dime, and that once we got married, we would split your assets fifty-fifty. The moment your lawyers shut down the party, he tried to steal my personal jewelry to pay for a cheap motel room.”
I looked at the young woman standing before me. In a strange way, I felt a flicker of pity. We had both been victims of the same narcissist, trapped by our own illusions of what love and success were supposed to look like.
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“Leave the drive, Penelope,” I said quietly. “And take my advice: catch the first flight out of Miami, change your phone number, and never look back.”
She nodded, wiped a tear from her cheek, and hurried out of the study without another word.
