Chapter 3
The voice from the phone was raspy, hollow, and unmistakably alive, uttering a string of old corporate routing codes that only the original partners of Vance Industries possessed. Julian’s face twisted into an ugly grimace as he finally pressed the power button, plunging the device into darkness and cutting off the audio. The sudden silence was deafening, pressing down on the guests who had managed to stay seated at the distant tables.
Evelyn gripped the edge of the mahogany table, her knuckles mottled with age. She looked at Julian, then slowly turned her gaze to Elena, her eyes narrowing behind her impeccably styled hair.
“How long?” Evelyn asked, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “How long have you been digging into the legacy trusts, Elena?”
Elena straightened her collar, the crisp white fabric reflecting the harsh light of the room. She refused to shrink under her grandmother’s intense scrutiny, knowing that weakness was currency in this family.
“Long enough to know why father signed over the primary holdings to a shell company in the Cayman Islands the week before his so-called accident,” Elena replied evenly.
Julian slammed his hand onto the table again, though this time it lacked its previous explosive force, sounding more like a desperate plea for order.
“Father’s estate was settled legally by the board,” Julian snapped, though his eyes darted toward the grand double doors of the dining hall as if expecting federal agents to march through at any second. “Everything we have, everything this family stands for, was earned through legitimate enterprise.”
“Legitimate enterprise doesn't require armed guards outside the private vault or offshore accounts funded by shell companies in defunct mining towns,” Elena countered, standing up slowly from her chair.
As Elena rose, the blood on her ear became visible to the surrounding staff who hovered near the service doors, their eyes averted in practiced discretion. Evelyn watched her granddaughter with a strange, unreadable expression—fear masked by a lifetime of tactical calculation.
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“Sit down, Elena,” Evelyn commanded coldly. “We don't air our family disputes in front of the domestic staff.”
“We aren't discussing a family dispute, grandmother,” Elena said, taking a deliberate step toward Julian. “We’re discussing an indictment.”
