Chapter 3
The heavy oak doors of the Vance estate library muffled the distant murmur of the party outside, plunging the room into a tense, book-scented silence. Eleanor paced across the Persian rug, her cream-colored blazer now feeling like a straitjacket. Julian poured himself a finger of neat scotch at the mahogany wet bar, his hand steady despite the turbulence of the evening.
"You should never have engaged her in public, Aunt Eleanor," Julian said, taking a slow sip of the amber liquid. "Maya wants an audience. She wants the board members and the press to start asking questions about the estate's origins."
Eleanor stopped pacing, turning to face him with wide, incredulous eyes. "And what would you have me do? Smile while she pours wine over our family history? That girl is nothing more than a ghost coming back to haunt us for an inheritance she has no legal right to claim."
"Legality and justice are two very different things in this house, and you know it," Julian replied quietly, setting the crystal glass down with a soft click. "The trust fund was established under conditions that grandfather manipulated thirty years ago. If Maya has the original documents—the ones signed before the amendment—we lose everything. Not just the estate, but the foundation, the shares, all of it."
Eleanor felt a cold knot form in her stomach. She walked over to the large mahogany desk and unlocked the top drawer with a small brass key. Inside lay the sanitized history of the Vance family, stripped of all inconvenient truths. But she knew documents could be duplicated, and secrets could be whispered to the right investigative journalists. Maya had not just appeared out of nowhere; she had been meticulously prepared for this exact night, armed with knowledge that only someone from the inner circle could have provided.
May you like
Julian walked over to the tall arched window, looking out toward the lake where the caterers were finally cleaning up the shattered glass. "She’s staying at the old boathouse on the north shore," Julian murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "I saw her key on the table when she left her clutch in the powder room."
Eleanor stared at her nephew, sensing a dangerous shift in his allegiance. The unity of the Vance family was fracturing from the inside out, and the pressure was pushing them all toward desperate measures.
