Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Vance Enterprises
The name hung in the air like carbon monoxide, invisible yet suffocation-inducing. Julian stared down at the corporate seal stamped across the bottom of the document. The crest of Vance Enterprises—a stylized falcon clutching a golden key—stared back at him with chilling familiarity. It was the exact logo emblazoned on the wall of his own executive suite, the office he had operated out of for the past three years under the impression that he was the majority stakeholder.
"That's impossible," Julian muttered, shaking his head as his fingers traced the raised embossing of the paper. "My father left me this company. The transition documents were signed, filed, and sealed by the district probate court before he passed away."
The older man in the blue blazer, Arturia’s supposed father, smiled faintly. He stepped away from the table, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He buttoned his blue blazer and reached into his inner pocket, withdrawing a vintage gold fountain pen.
"Your father, Julian, was a brilliant engineer, but a catastrophic businessman," the older man said, his voice carrying the dry cadence of a historian recounting a tragedy. "He built the engines, but Katherine provided the fuel. Every patent, every brick, every cent of capitalization that built Vance Enterprises came from the Katherine Vance Legacy Fund. You didn't inherit a empire, young man. You inherited a lease."
Arturia stepped forward, her burgundy dress rustling sharply against the floorboards. Her composure was cracking at the edges, the veneer of untouchable confidence wearing thin under the harsh reality of the financial ambush.
"Dad, stop playing games with them," Arturia demanded, her voice rising slightly before she caught herself, forcing her tone back into a calculated whisper. "If Katherine holds the trust, then Vance is vulnerable. We restructured the debt last month. Julian signed the papers. The board approved the acquisition of the secondary assets. Even if she owns the trust, she can't dissolve the operational holdings without triggering a cross-default clause that destroys the entire corporation."
The lawyer from the firm let out a soft, pitying sigh. He closed the manila folder and tucked it under his arm.
"Miss Mendoza, you assume the board of directors operates independently," the lawyer said. "Allow me to introduce myself properly. Arthur Pendelton. General Counsel for Katherine Vance."
Pendelton turned his head toward the entrance of the private dining alcove, where two more figures had quietly materialized from the dimly lit hallway. One was a middle-aged man in a dark trench coat, carrying a briefcase. The other was a younger woman with short blonde hair and sharp, intelligent eyes—the corporate secretary Julian had fired just forty-eight hours ago for insubordination.
Julian’s breath hitched in his throat. He pointed a trembling finger at the former secretary. "You... you were dismissed. You have no right to be here."
"I was dismissed by you, Mr. Vance," the secretary replied evenly, stepping into the light. "But my employment contract was never with you. It was held directly by the Vance Family Trust. I was placed in your office to audit your expenditures. And I found something fascinating."
She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a sleek, titanium flash drive, holding it up where everyone could see it.
"You didn't just restructure the debt, Julian," she said, her voice cutting through the restaurant’s quiet murmurs. "You systematically embezzled four million dollars from the subsidiary accounts to fund Arturia’s private offshore holdings. And every single transfer was signed with a forged digital signature belonging to Katherine Vance."
Arturia’s face turned the color of ash. She spun around to face Julian, her eyes wide with sudden, unadulterated panic.
"Julian," she hissed, her fingernails digging into the fabric of her handbag. "Tell them it's a lie. Tell them you handled the filings yourself."
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Julian opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His blonde hair seemed to dull under the restaurant lights as he looked down at the titanium drive, realizing the trap wasn't just closing around his neck—it had already been locked, bolted, and welded shut.
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