Chapter 7 - The Vermont File
The town car hummed through the damp, empty streets of Manhattan, the city blurring into a streak of amber lights against the dark glass. Valeria sat in the far corner of the backseat, pressed as tightly against the door as possible. Julian sat opposite her, his hands folded neatly over the handle of his walking cane, while Clara sat in the front passenger seat, reviewing documents on a sleek tablet.
Valeria stared down at the single cardboard box sitting on the floor between her feet. Inside it were her passport, her birth certificate, and the plain black trench coat. Everything else she had ever owned—every designer bag, every tailored dress, every piece of glittering jewelry—belonged to the estate.
“Where are we going?” Valeria asked, her voice flat, drained of all its previous venom.
“To the airstrip,” Julian replied without looking up. “A private charter is waiting to take you to Burlington.”
Valeria’s head snapped up. “Vermont? You’re actually banishing me? You’re sending me away to hide me like some dirty family secret?”
“We are sending you to oversee the rehabilitation facility where your brother has lived for the last twelve years,” Clara said, turning her head slightly to look back at her. Her expression was completely devoid of malice, which somehow made it infinitely more terrifying. “He needs round-the-clock care, Valeria. And since you spent the last decade mocking people who work for a living, it’s only fitting that you learn what it takes to actually sustain a human life.”
“I won’t do it,” Valeria snarled, a final spark of defiance flashing in her dark eyes. “I don’t know him, I don’t care about him, and I certainly won’t spend my life changing bandages in some freezing northern clinic!”
“You don’t have a choice,” Julian said quietly, finally raising his eyes to meet hers. The look in his gaze wasn't anger; it was the cold, clinical finality of a judge passing a life sentence. “Your assets are frozen, your passport is flagged, and the only credit card in your possession has a five-hundred-dollar limit tied to a basic checking account that I personally monitor. You can work off your debt to the family trust, or you can face federal indictment for wire fraud. Those are your terms.”
The car turned sharply onto the tarmac of a private aviation facility, the roar of a jet engine vibrating through the chassis. Through the rain-streaked window, Valeria saw a sleek, white Gulfstream waiting under the harsh floodlights, its cabin door open and waiting.
Clara turned around completely in her seat, resting her arm on the headrest, looking directly at Valeria as the car slid to a smooth halt beside the aircraft steps.
May you like
“Welcome to the real world, little sister,” Clara said softly. “Let’s see how long you survive without someone else’s money.”
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