Chapter 3: The Missing Link
Marcus Vance’s patience evaporated entirely. Before Richard could take another step toward the bassinet, Vance’s hand shot out, grabbing the older man by the lapel once more and pinning him against the wall with a dull thud. The sheer physical dominance was absolute. Richard’s feet briefly left the floor before finding purchase against the baseboard.
“Keep talking about pruning,” Vance growled, his face inches from Richard’s. “And I’ll show you what a real butcher does to dead weight. Now, I’m going to ask you one more time. Who is waiting in the black sedan parked by the emergency loading dock?”
Richard’s breath hitched, his composure finally cracking under the threat of physical violence. He glanced sideways toward the door, a tiny tell that did not escape Vance’s notice. “A courier,” Richard wheezed. “A man named Henderson. He handles acquisitions for the orphanage trust in upstate New York. It’s all legal on paper. Surrender forms signed by proxy.”
“Proxy by coercion,” Julian corrected bitterly, stepping closer to his father. “You forged her signature, didn't you? You told the board she miscarried while she was under anesthesia. I saw the draft memo on your desk, Dad. Don't lie to us anymore.”
Vance released Richard with a disgusted shove that sent the older man stumbling back against the wall. Vance turned his back on the Sterling men, walking slowly over to the bassinet where the newborn was finally settling back into a restless sleep. With infinite gentleness that contrasted sharply with his rugged, tattooed exterior, Vance reached down and adjusted the edge of the white cotton blanket, tucking it securely around the infant’s tiny shoulders.
“Elena is waking up upstairs in Room 412,” Vance said softly, not looking back. “The nurses gave her too much sedative, but she’s fighting through it. The first thing she’s going to ask for is her baby. And if I walk back into that room empty-handed, I won’t just destroy your precious corporate empire, Richard. I’ll dismantle every brick of your legacy with my bare hands.”
May you like
Richard straightened his jacket, smoothing the crushed fabric with trembling palms. He cast a venomous look at Vance’s broad back, then shifted his gaze to his son. “You are siding with an ex-con, Julian? A man who spent five years in federal prison for racketeering? He can’t provide stability. He’s a walking time bomb.”
“He’s her husband,” Julian shot back, his voice steady for the first time. “And unlike you, Dad, he actually loves her. That’s something money can’t buy, no matter how many shell corporations you set up.”
