Chapter 7 - THE UNEXPECTED VISITORTwo weeks after Ryan’s sentencing, the Vance estate was bathed in the warm, golden glow of an early autumn afternoon. I was in the glass-walled conservatory on the west wing, helping Maya plant winter pansies in ceramic pots while Leo kicked a soccer ball against the practice net outside.
My phone buzzed on the rustic wooden potting bench.
It was an unknown number with a local area code. I swiped the screen and pressed it to my ear.
“Hello, this is Valerie Vance.”
A long, heavy silence stretched across the line. The only sound was the faint static of a poor connection and the ragged breathing of whoever was on the other end.
“Valerie... please,” a voice choked out.
My blood ran cold. It was Camille.
Her voice sounded raw, broken, and desperate—completely devoid of the haughty arrogance she had worn while parading around in my silk robe three months ago.
“How did you get this number, Camille?” I asked, my voice dropping into a tone of quiet ice.
“Marcus locked me out of everything,” she sobbed, the sound pathetic and grating. “My family won't even answer my calls. I’m living out of a motel near the airport, and the authorities are threatening to indict me as an accessory because Ryan refused to take the full blame during the secondary interviews yesterday.”
I paused, pressing a scoop of soil around the roots of a purple pansy.
“That’s between you, Ryan, and the federal prosecutor,” I said calmly. “You chose to forge my signature. You chose to help them steal my property. You made your bed, Camille—now you get to sleep in it. Without my robe.”
“Wait! Don't hang up!” Camille shrieked, panic spiking her voice. “There’s something you don't know! Something Ryan’s uncle hid from both of us! If you don't listen to me, you’re going to lose everything you think you’ve won!”
I stopped my hands in the dirt. My instincts flared. Arthur Hayes had been a cunning fox, but could there really be another layer to this conspiracy?
“You have sixty seconds, Camille,” I said steadily. “Start talking.”
“It’s not just about the shipping company or the thirty million,” Camille gasped, breathing heavily as if running out of air. “Arthur didn't just target your grandfather’s estate. Before your grandfather died, he transferred a secondary portfolio—worth over a hundred million in international patents—into a blind trust. And Ryan’s uncle didn't lose control of it. He assigned a secondary beneficiary... someone you see every single day.”
The world around me seemed to stop spinning. The gentle sound of Maya laughing on the patio suddenly faded into white noise.
“Who?” I demanded, gripping the phone so hard my knuckles turned white.
“I don't know his name, but he’s inside your inner circle, Val,” Camille cried out, before the line abruptly went dead with a sharp, electronic click.
Dial tone.
May you like
I stood up slowly, wiping the soil from my hands. My mind raced through every face in my corporate empire, every security guard on my payroll, and every trusted advisor who had stood by my side over the last three months.
Someone was still playing the long game.
