Chapter 7 - The Uninvited HeirIt was Diana Vance.
Viktor’s younger cousin—and the notoriously media-obsessed fashion mogul of the Vance family empire—stood in the doorway, wrapped in a floor-length white designer fur coat, sunglasses pushed up onto her forehead, breathing heavily as if she had just sprinted three blocks from Magnificent Mile.
“Viktor!” Diana shrieked, her voice cutting through the jazz music and the chatter of the newly arrived community guests. “Are you out of your absolute, drug-addled, billionaire-midlife-crisis mind?!”
Every head in the dining room turned.
Viktor didn't even flinch. He slowly closed the cap of his pen, letting out a long, weary sigh. “Hello, Diana. Good of you to join us. Did your private jet land early, or did you just fly in on your broomstick?”
Diana marched across the newly exposed walnut floors, her designer boots clicking furiously against the wood. She ignored the community guests entirely, marching right up to the service station where Marissa and Viktor stood.
“Have you seen the stock market today?!” Diana thrust her glowing phone into Viktor’s face. “Vance Global hospitality stocks dipped 4.2% in pre-market trading because of your little Marxist stunt! The board is in full panic mode! Arthur Sterling is having heart palpitations in the corporate lounge, and Eleanor is threatening to sue you for mental incompetence!”
“Arthur is eighty years old and eats a pound of bacon every morning; his heart palpitations have nothing to do with me,” Viktor replied smoothly, brushing the phone aside. “And as for the stock dip, it’s a momentary correction while Wall Street digests the transition from exploitative luxury to sustainable community equity. By next quarter, our brand loyalty metrics will skyrocket.”
“Brand loyalty?!” Diana laughed hysterically. “We don't sell brand loyalty to soccer moms and soup-kitchen locals, Viktor! We sell exclusivity! We sell five-thousand-dollar anniversary dinners to hedge fund managers and tech billionaires! You’ve turned the Sterling Room into a charity shelter!”
“A community table,” Marissa corrected quietly, her voice cutting cleanly through Diana’s frantic rant.
Diana stopped. She slowly turned her head, fixing her cold, judgmental gaze on Marissa for the very first time. She looked her up and down—from her simple canvas apron to her plain sneakers.
“And who in God’s green earth are you?” Diana sneered. “The dishwasher union president?”
“This is Marissa Vale,” Viktor said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, glacial register that made Diana instinctively take half a step back. “She is the newly appointed Managing Director of the Vance-Vale Community Trust. And she speaks with my full authority.”
Diana stared at Viktor in sheer horror. “Managing Director?! You’re giving our flagship Chicago property to a waitress? Have you lost your entire inheritance?!”
“I’m building something real, Diana,” Viktor said, stepping forward, his broad shoulders blocking her view of Marissa. “Something you wouldn't understand because you measure human worth by the label on a handbag or the price tag of a steak.”
Diana’s face twisted in disgust. She whipped her phone back out, dialing a number with frantic speed. “That’s it. I’m calling an emergency family injunction. I’m invoking the Clause of Mental Incapacitation. You’re stepping down today, Viktor, whether you want to or not.”
Before Diana could press call, a heavy hand gently reached out and pressed down on the top of her phone, forcing the screen against her palm.
Diana gasped, looking up.
It wasn't Viktor.
It was Arthur Sterling, who had quietly re-entered the restaurant through the side kitchen doors, leaning on his mahogany cane, flanked by two corporate lawyers carrying thick black binders.
“Put the phone away, Diana,” the old man said, his gravelly voice echoing with absolute, unquestionable authority.
Diana blinked, her bravado faltering instantly. “Grandfather... Uncle Arthur! You’re supposed to be in the board room drafting an injunction!”
“I was,” Arthur said, walking slowly until he stood beside Viktor and Marissa. “Then I looked at the morning engagement metrics on the new cooperative model. Do you know how many digital subscriptions, positive public relations impressions, and goodwill partnerships we’ve secured in the last six hours, Diana?”
Diana stammered. “That—that doesn't matter! It’s not luxury!”
“It’s the future,” Arthur said firmly. He turned his weathered eyes toward Viktor, then shifted them to Marissa. A slow, knowing smile crossed the old man’s face. “And more importantly... Viktor was right about one thing.”
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“What’s that?” Viktor asked.
“The food downtown was getting far too pretentious,” Arthur chuckled. Then he turned to Marissa, extending a wrinkled, age-spotted hand. “Welcome to the family business, my dear.”
