Chapter 5 - The Impostor UnmaskedUpstairs, the glittering ballroom had turned into a theater of war.
Glass crunched underfoot as Victor Vance paced back and forth in front of Evelyn, his polished leather shoes stopping inches from her bound wrists. He looked immaculate, his tailored suit completely unruffled despite the chaos.
“You always were stubborn, Evelyn,” Victor chuckled, leaning in close. “You thought marrying into the Whitmore dynasty would protect you from my wrath. But look at you now. Bankrupted, betrayed by your own security, and your precious granddaughter hunted down like a stray dog.”
Evelyn raised her chin, a drop of blood trickling from her temple where a mercenary had struck her. She stared at him with unadulterated contempt. “You never owned the empire, Victor. You only stole the stationery. The board never signed off on your transfer of shares. The moment I die, the entire conglomerate reverts to the direct bloodline.”
Victor’s smile vanished. His face twisted into a mask of pure fury. He raised the back of his hand to strike her across the face.
“Touch her, and I’ll blow your head clean off your shoulders.”
The deep, resonant voice echoed off the crystal chandeliers with the force of thunder.
Victor froze. Every mercenary in the room whipped their rifles around, aiming toward the grand staircase.
Emerging from the shadows of the lower landing was an old man leaning on a cane. But it wasn't just any old man. As he stepped into the brilliant glare of the chandeliers, several elderly corporate moguls hiding under the banquet tables gasped so loudly the sound carried across the silent room.
“Good God in heaven…” whispered Thomas Sterling, chairman of Sterling Global, clutching his chest. “Arthur? Arthur Vance? But you died in the harbor explosion in 1996!”
Victor staggered backward, dropping his hand as if he had been burned by hot iron. His face turned the color of spoiled milk. His knees buckled slightly against the edge of a mahogany table.
“No…” Victor choked out, his voice turning into a high-pitched rasp. “No! That’s impossible! I buried you! I checked the DNA records!”
The old man—my grandfather—smiled coldly, stepping onto the polished floor. “You buried a decoy in a stolen car, brother dear. You thought you could fake my death, steal my company, and marry my grieving widow? You forgot one fundamental rule of Wall Street, Victor: Never trust a partner who knows where the bodies are buried.”
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Victor’s eyes darted frantically toward his mercenaries. “Kill him! Shoot him right now!”
Before the mercenaries could even twitch their fingers toward their triggers, a deafening roar shook the entire estate from foundation to rafters.
