Chapter 3 - The Corporate ExecutionerJulian Vance didn't look like a lawyer who had just dropped a clipboard by accident. He looked like a man who had just seen a ghost walk out of a grave.
“Mr. Vale,” Julian said, his voice tight, controlled, but carrying a tremor that couldn't be faked. “The board members are waiting in the executive suite. We need to go. Now.”
Richard didn't turn around. His eyes remained locked on me and Sophie. “Cancel the meeting, Julian.”
“Sir, the merger with the European syndicate—”
“I said, cancel it.” Richard’s voice dropped an octave, carrying the terrifying authority of a man who could destroy industries with a single phone call. He took a step toward Julian, shielding us from the lawyer's line of sight. “How long have you known?”
Julian swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly. “Known what, sir?”
“Don't play games with me, Julian. You managed my father’s estate records after he passed. You audited the private trust funds. You knew about the Vermont clinic.”
The color drained entirely from Julian’s face. He glanced at Sophie, then back at Richard, his professional composure cracking down the middle.
“The old man ordered the accounts sealed, Mr. Vale,” Julian whispered defensively. “If the public found out that Caroline Vale had a child out of wedlock, the stock would have plummeted. The IPO would have failed. The family name—everything you built—would have been tainted by a scandal of abandonment and psychiatric institutionalization.”
My blood ran cold. Institutionalization.
“What did you just say?” I demanded, stepping out from behind Richard. “What about psychiatric institutionalization?”
Julian looked at me with cold, calculating eyes. “Your grandmother didn't just hide Caroline, Mrs. Cole. Your grandmother made a deal. She took a severance package large enough to buy a dozen apartment buildings, signed a non-disclosure agreement, and swore that Caroline—and her child—would vanish from the face of the earth. But Margaret kept the child. She broke the contract.”
“Liar!” I screamed, a wave of rage overriding my fear. “My mother worked herself to the bone until her heart gave out! She never took a dime of blood money from your family!”
“Check your mother’s Swiss bank accounts, Hannah,” Julian sneer-whispered. “There’s a dormant trust fund that deposits fifty thousand dollars every single month, automatically renewed until the day she died. And guess whose name was designated as the primary beneficiary upon turning ten?”
He pointed a shaking finger directly at my daughter.
May you like
“Sophie.”
A hidden fortune, a broken contract, and a trail of blood. Sophie’s tenth birthday is tomorrow—and it’s the day the trust fund activates. Is that why they're suddenly closing in?
