Chapter 5: Whispers in the Dark
The phone rang three times before a gravelly, uninterested voice answered on the other end. "If this is a stock inquiry, hang up. If this is a threat, state your terms clearly."
"Marcus, it’s David Vance. Arthur Vance’s son," David said, keeping his voice low to avoid carrying through the thin hospital walls.
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, followed by the sound of shuffling paper. "David. It’s been a decade. Last time I saw you, you were wearing a graduation cap and looking miserable in a three-piece suit. What do you need?"
"I need your help to save my fiancée and my unborn child from my mother," David said without hesitation, his eyes never leaving Clara, who was watching him with a mixture of hope and paralyzing fear.
A heavy sigh crackled through the speaker. "Your mother is Evelyn Vance. People in my profession don't cross paths with her unless they want their bank accounts frozen and their reputations smeared across the front page of the Wall Street Journal. What did she do?"
"She had Clara pushed down a flight of stairs to manufacture a medical emergency, and right now, she’s using a corrupt district judge to push through an emergency conservatorship," David hissed, his knuckles white as he gripped the phone. "She has files, doctors on her payroll, and a legal team ready to lock Clara away in a private sanatorium before midnight."
"And you?" Marcus asked, his tone shifting from casual dismissal to razor-sharp professional interest. "Where do you stand in this corporate massacre?"
"I’m standing in a hospital room watching the woman I love shake with fear because my own family treats her like livestock," David replied fiercely. "I have the dossier they brought. It has signatures from doctors who haven't even examined Clara in three weeks. I need you to trace those medical licenses, find the kickbacks, and give me something I can use to blow my mother’s empire wide open."
"You realize what you're asking for, don't you, boy?" Marcus said, a grim humor in his voice. "Once you pull that thread, the entire Vance textile mill unravels. There's no going back to Sunday dinners at the estate."
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"I don't give a damn about Sunday dinners," David said. "Meet me at the south loading dock of St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital in forty minutes. Bring a secure flash drive and a burner phone. I’m getting Clara out of here, and we need a safehouse that doesn't show up on my mother’s corporate registry."
"Forty minutes," Marcus said, and the line went dead.
