Chapter 6 - The Fall of the House of Vance
The foyer of the Vance estate, which had played host to regional power brokers, corrupt judges, and socialites just twelve hours earlier, was now filled with the dull, rhythmic hum of federal laptop drives and the sharp scratch of handcuffs being locked around expensive silk cuffs.
Julian sat on the edge of the Louis XIV velvet settee, his silk bathrobe gaping open at the chest, staring blankly at the Persian rug between his feet. Two agents stood quietly on either side of him, their hands resting near their tactical belts.
Victoria came clattering down the grand staircase wrapped in a designer cashmere robe, her hair wild and her face flushed with frantic rage.
“What is the meaning of this?!” she shrieked, pointing a manicured finger at Agent Miller. “Do you know who my family is?! My father built this city! My brother is going to sue every single one of you until you’re working retail in a bus station!”
Agent Miller didn't even blink. She handed a copy of the asset seizure order to a junior agent and turned to face Victoria.
“Miss Vance, unless you want to join your brother in the transport van for obstruction of justice, I suggest you sit down and keep your voice lowered,” Miller said with chilling professionalism. “Every asset registered to this address—including the accounts in Zurich, the art collection in the east gallery, and this residential property—is now under federal receivership.”
Victoria stopped dead in her tracks. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. She looked toward Julian, her voice dropping to a desperate, shaking whisper.
“Julian... what is she talking about? Tell them this is a mistake! Call the governor!”
Julian didn't look up. He couldn't. His eyes were fixed on a small spot on the floor where a drop of rain had fallen from his wet hair.
I walked slowly down the center of the foyer, my heels clicking against the marble with the metronomic precision of a clock counting down his final seconds. I stopped three feet away from him, looking down at the man who had treated my daughter’s life as an accounting error.
“Genevieve...” Julian whispered, his voice cracking, the arrogance entirely evaporated, leaving behind a pathetic, whining shell of a man. “Genevieve, please. You know this isn't true. You’re my wife. Help me fix this.”
“Your wife?” I asked, tilting my head. “Which wife, Julian? The one you locked in the east wing while you dined with Victoria? Or the one you expected to sign away her inheritance for fifty thousand dollars and a bus ticket to Arizona?”
Julian raised his head, his gray eyes wide with sudden, sickening realization.
“You...” he breathed, the word dragging out of his throat like a rusted nail. “You did this. The audits... the offshore leaks... the federal filings... it was you.”
“It was my father’s work,” I corrected quietly, pulling the original Sterling & Vance partnership deed from my briefcase and holding it out so he could see the red ink of the forensic certification. “You thought you buried him six years ago, Julian. You thought by starving his legacy, you could starve out our family. But some names don't die just because you forge a signature on a bankruptcy filing.”
Victoria lunged forward, her face twisted into a mask of pure, feral hatred.
“You bitch!” she screamed, leaping toward me with her fingernails outstretched like claws. “You ruined us! You ruined everything!”
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Before she could take two steps, one of the federal agents stepped into her path, grabbing her wrists with iron force and forcing her arms behind her back with a sharp click of a second pair of steel cuffs.
“Miss Vance, do not resist federal officers,” the agent warned flatly as Victoria kicked and shrieked against the velvet upholstery.
