The Confrontation on Four
The elevator doors opened onto the private fourth floor with a quiet chime.
Richard Vance stepped out, wearing a sharply pressed charcoal suit, flanked by two attorneys carrying leather briefcases. His face was a mask of practiced, aristocratic concern.
"Alexander!" Richard said, stepping forward with his hands outstretched. "Thank God you found them! I’ve been searching the lower district for three weeks! Emma disappeared from the Oakridge house with Sophia after a severe mental health episode—"
Before Richard could finish the sentence, Alexander’s left hand shot out like an iron clamp, seizing Richard by the throat and slamming him backward against the reinforced glass partition of the conference room.
The two attorneys gasped, stepping back in terror. "Mr. Vance! Release him immediately or we will call the authorities!"
"Call them," Alexander hissed, his face inches from his brother’s bulging eyes. "Call the city police, the state troopers, and the federal marshals. Let’s have every badge in this state stand in this room and look at the bank statements from the Cayman accounts."
Richard’s face turned deep purple as his fingers clawed frantically at Alexander’s wrist. "Alex... please... you don't understand..."
Alexander tightened his grip for three agonizing seconds, letting the cold terror of absolute ruin sink into his brother's soul, before shoving him violently to the carpeted floor.
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Richard collapsed in a heap, coughing and clutching his throat.
"I saw the cellar, Richard," Alexander said, his voice dropping into a register of chilling, absolute finality. "I saw the mold on the pipes. I saw my seven-year-old daughter eating garbage from a banquet tray while you wore a three-thousand-dollar watch bought with her college trust."
