Chapter 7 - The Gathering at the Estate
Thirty miles north of Charlotte, set amidst two hundred acres of rolling green hills overlooking Lake Norman, sat the Vance family estate.
The grand stone mansion had been built by Arthur Vance fifty years ago—a fortress of warm wood, floor-to-ceiling glass, and historic dignity.
Grace sat on the sprawling rear verandah, wrapped in a soft cashmere blanket, holding a warm cup of herbal tea. The rain swept gently across the surface of the lake, creating a peaceful, rhythmic sound against the stone terrace.
Behind her, the glass doors slid open, and Marcus walked out, carrying two fresh timber logs for the outdoor fireplace. He set them down, stoked the flames, and pulled up a heavy teak armchair beside her.
"How are you feeling, Gracie?" Marcus asked softly.
Grace looked at her brother, offering a faint, genuine smile. "I feel... like I can breathe for the first time in three years, Marc."
"The doctor from Charlotte Presbyterian will be here at three to do a full check-up and ultrasound," Marcus said, placing his large hand gently over hers. "Gabe arranged for a private room at the hospital for when the time comes. No reporters, no stress."
"Thank you," Grace whispered, leaning her head against her brother's arm. "I'm sorry I brought all this trouble to you guys."
Marcus frowned, his brow furrowing in deep, genuine offense. "Don't ever say that again, Grace. You are our sister. When Dad died, he told us that our only real job in this life was to keep you safe. We let you marry that bastard because we wanted you to be happy. We stayed away because you asked us to. But you never bring us 'trouble.' You are the heart of this family."
Gabriel and Julian walked out onto the verandah, both holding glasses of bourbon.
"The Pierce deal is closed," Gabriel said, leaning against the stone railing. "Vance Capital now owns one hundred percent of the Southgate commercial rights. We're restructuring the residential phase to build affordable housing and a children's medical center."
"What about Ethan?" Grace asked quietly.
Julian took a sip of his bourbon. "He's currently living in a weekly motel in North Charlotte, working as a day laborer at a lumber yard. His name is toxic in every real estate firm in the Southeast. No one will hire him, no one will lend him money, and he has forty-three dollars to his name."
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Grace looked down at her warm tea, feeling a brief pang of sorrow—not for the man Ethan had become, but for the young man she had loved five years ago in that tiny lakefront cottage.
"He chose his path," Grace said softly, placing her hand over her stomach. "And I'm choosing mine."
