Chapter 7
Within hours of the broadcast, the federal investigation transitioned from a quiet compliance review to a public, high-profile raid. Federal agents in dark windbreakers converged on the Vance Global headquarters, boxing up servers, seizing hard drives, and slapping embargo notices on executive office doors. Down in the lobby, news vans crowded the street, their satellite dishes pointed toward the upper floors as reporters vied for live coverage of the empire's sudden collapse. Inside his private office, Richard Vance sat slumped in his leather chair, staring blankly at the empty desk as his decades of untouchable status evaporated into thin air.
Julian stood by the window, watching the commotion unfold below. His phone remained silent, cut off from the frantic calls of investors and allies who had already begun distancing themselves from the family name. The door opened slowly, and Harrison Vance stepped inside, carrying a thick binder wrapped in red legal tape. "The asset forfeiture orders have been signed," Harrison said quietly, avoiding eye contact with both men. "The government is seizing all corporate holdings, as well as the family trusts tied directly to fraudulent capital injections. You’re facing a grand jury subpoena, Richard. And Julian... your personal accounts have been frozen pending an investigation into your knowledge of the corporate structuring."
Julian nodded slowly, feeling an odd sense of liberation amid the wreckage. For his entire life, his identity had been inextricably tied to the Vance name—a name built on corruption, intimidation, and hidden cruelty. By stripping away the wealth and the illusion of power, Catherine had effectively dismantled the cage that had kept him prisoner for thirty years. "Where is she?" Julian asked, his voice steady as he turned to face the attorney.
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"She’s at the federal courthouse," Harrison replied, sliding a single white envelope across the desk toward Julian. "She filed for a no-fault dissolution of marriage early this morning, alongside a formal waiver of spousal support. She doesn't want your money, Julian. She never did."
Julian picked up the envelope, opening it with slow, deliberate movements. Inside was a simple document, signed in Catherine’s clean, precise handwriting. Attached to it was a photograph—not of the glamorous galas or high-society events they had attended together, but a candid snapshot taken three years ago on a quiet hiking trail before the corporate ambitions and family toxicity had poisoned their foundation. On the back, she had written a single sentence: You can still choose who you want to be when the marble pillars fall.
