Chapter 3 - The Billionaire's RansomThe rain had stopped by evening, leaving behind a thick, suffocating fog that rolled off the river and choked the streets of the industrial district.
Elliot’s bulletproof Maybach slid silently through the gates of Vance Tower, a seventy-story monolith of glass and steel that loomed over the city like a monument to ambition. But tonight, the billionaire felt like a prisoner in his own fortress.
He walked into his penthouse suite, loosening his tie, only to find a figure standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, sipping a glass of rare scotch.
Marcus Sterling. His chief legal counsel, his most trusted confidant, and the son of the man who destroyed Elliot's family.
"You're tracking down ghosts, Elliot," Marcus said smoothly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass without turning around. "And in our position, ghosts are bad for business. Especially when those ghosts start sniffing around Somerset House."
Elliot's eyes narrowed. He didn't flinch, didn't raise his voice. He walked toward the wet bar, poured himself a shot of neat bourbon, and stared straight at his lawyer.
"How did you know I was at Somerset House, Marcus?" Elliot asked softly. "I didn't tell my pilot until we were airborne."
Marcus turned, a faint, chilling smile playing on his lips. "I have ears everywhere, old friend. More importantly, my father’s old associates have ears everywhere. When you started digging into the 1994 textile records regarding Arthur Vance’s estate, my phone started ringing. And let me guess—you found a little girl with a doll named Maisie?"
"Where is she?" Elliot growled, slamming his glass down onto the marble counter. "What did your father do to my sister, and why is her granddaughter—or daughter—sitting in an underfunded orphanage while your family sits on billions?"
Marcus chuckled, a dry, mocking sound. "Daughter? Granddaughter? Oh, Elliot. You really think life is a neat little melodrama, don't you? Let me enlighten you."
Marcus walked closer, dropping a thick manila envelope onto the glass table between them.
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"Maisie didn't die in 1994. My father didn't kill her either. He hid her away in a private medical trust, funded by the very profits of Vance Nutrition. Because the company was never yours, Elliot. Your entire empire, your stocks, your patents, your prestige—it was all built on a trust fund legally belonging to Maisie Vance. And if little Lily’s existence is verified by DNA, that means Maisie is alive. And she is the majority shareholder of Vance Nutrition."
Elliot stared at the envelope. The room seemed to spin. Everything he had fought for, every drop of sweat and blood he poured into building his empire, wasn't his achievement. It was a stolen inheritance waiting for its rightful owner to reclaim it.
