Chapter 21 - The Shadows of Southampton
The summer heat wave blanketed Manhattan in a thick, shimmering haze, prompting Vincent to relocate the family to their estate in Southampton for the July weekends. The sprawling oceanfront property was a masterclass in modern minimalist luxury—walls of glass opening directly onto the Atlantic, manicured lawns stretching toward the dunes, and complete, absolute privacy.
At least, it was supposed to be private.
It was a Saturday morning, and Vincent was sitting on the back patio with seven-year-old Willa, helping her build an elaborate sandcastle near the tide line, when his secure satellite phone buzzed sharply on the teak table.
He didn't answer immediately. He watched Willa carefully pack wet sand into a bucket, her dark Hale eyes crinkling in intense concentration—a look she had inherited entirely from him.
The phone buzzed a second time.
Sloan walked out from the glass sliding doors, carrying a tray of iced lemonade, her white linen dress fluttering in the ocean breeze. She handed a glass to Vincent, noticing the flashing screen.
“You’re ignoring a secure line,” she noted, raising an eyebrow. “That usually means either a hostile market shift or Marcus is panicking because the coffee machine in the executive suite broke.”
Vincent sighed, picking up the device. “Or it means the past isn't quite as dead as we thought.”
He pressed accept and put it to his ear. “Brooks.”
A tense, unfamiliar voice spoke on the other end. “Mr. Hale? My name is Detective Vance—no relation, I assure you. I’m calling from the Southampton local precinct. We have an incident report involving a trespasser on the northern perimeter of your estate. But that’s not why I’m calling.”
Vincent’s posture stiffened instantly. “Get to the point, Detective.”
“The trespasser was carrying a locked titanium briefcase stamped with the old crest of Meridian Capital. When our officers opened it pursuant to a warrant, they found a series of unexecuted deeds, offshore trust transfers, and a handwritten ledger dating back six years. It names your late father-in-law, Marcus Carter... and someone else.”
Vincent’s gaze whipped toward Sloan, who was calmly handing Willa a straw for her lemonade.
May you like
“Who else?” Vincent asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous, glacial register.
“Your mother, Eleanor Vance. It appears the hostile takeover attempt last year wasn't her first collaboration with Meridian. They were partners in a much larger asset-stripping scheme before your company went public.”
