Chapter 9
The mention of Charles Vance hung in the heavy boardroom air like a toxic cloud. The directors exchanged horrified glances, whispering anxiously among themselves. Julian froze midway to the door, his hand gripping the brass handle so tightly his fingers turned blue.
"Charles died in nineteen-ninety-eight," Julian said through clenched teeth, turning back to face Eleanor. "The DNA reports were verified. The funeral was held in this very building."
Eleanor walked past her son with slow, deliberate steps, her dark dress brushing against his tailored trousers. She stopped at the head of the table, resting her manicured hands on the granite surface.
"DNA can be matched, Julian, and corpses can be substituted when you have unlimited funds and a corrupt coroner on your payroll," Eleanor said casually, as if discussing the weather. "Charles didn't die in Marseille. He simply stepped out of the spotlight to build a shadow empire while your father and I took the public hits. And now, he’s coming back to collect his inheritance—with interest."
Before Julian could process the staggering revelation, the overhead lights in the boardroom flickered violently before plunging the entire floor into absolute darkness. The emergency red backup strips along the baseboards buzzed to life, casting an eerie crimson glow across the room.
From the ceiling speakers, a raspy, distorted voice echoed through the intercom system.
"Good morning, family," the voice crackled with digital distortion, sending a shiver down Amy’s spine. "I see the rats are finally fighting over a sinking ship. Julian, my ambitious nephew, you really thought you could inherit an empire built on blood and ink without paying the toll?"
Julian pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen casting a harsh white light across his grim features. He hit speed dial for Detective Miller, but the call failed instantly—the signal was completely jammed by a localized frequency blocker.
"Charles," Julian shouted toward the ceiling microphone. "You're trespassing on corporate property. The building is surrounded by federal authorities."
The intercom emitted a dry, cynical laugh. "Federal authorities? Julian, my boy, the Department of Justice signed off on my corporate reinstatement protocols three weeks ago, courtesy of your dear mother's hidden offshore signatures. You don't own Vance Logistics anymore. The ghost of Marseille does."
Amy stepped out of the corner, holding sleeping Lily protectively against her chest as she approached Julian. "Julian, we have to get out of this building now. This isn't just a corporate dispute anymore. It's a trap."
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Julian grabbed Amy’s arm gently, nodding in agreement. But as they turned toward the heavy mahogany exit doors, the reinforced steel shutters slammed down from the ceiling with a deafening crash, sealing the boardroom completely off from the rest of the floor.
Eleanor stood calmly in the crimson glow of the emergency lights, watching them with a detached, chilling smile. "You can't run from family, Julian. Especially not when family owns the vault you're standing in."
