Chapter 22 - Vance’s Proposition
Alistair Vance stepped forward into the warm light of my living room, his movements smooth, calculated, and terrifyingly deliberate. He didn't smile. His face was a mask of chiseled granite, framed by thinning silver hair and piercing pale blue eyes that swept across my condo, assessing its value in mere milliseconds. He placed the silver briefcase gently on the coffee table, right beside my phone, which was still glowing faintly with the photograph of the brass key.
"Ms. Prescott," Vance said, his voice deep, cultured, and dripping with an upper-crust British accent that commanded instant attention. "Or should I say, Ms. Vance-Prescott? The nomenclature tends to get complicated when dealing with transnational estates."
Julian stepped closer, his broad shoulders tensing. "Cut the corporate theater. State your business or get out before I throw you both over the balcony."
Vance didn't flinch at the threat. Instead, a faint, condescending smile touched the corners of his mouth. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses, and slid them onto the bridge of his nose.
"Ah, Mr. Vance. The former security consultant turned corporate liquidator. I expected you'd be hovering around Ms. Prescott," Alistair said smoothly, ignoring Julian's physical dominance entirely. He turned his attention back to me. "My dear Myriam, your grandfather was a pioneer. But he was also a paranoid man. Long before your mother squandered the domestic holdings, Henry anticipated that the family would implode under the weight of its own greed. So, he created an offshore vehicle—a multi-billion-dollar liquidity fund anchored in Zurich, completely detached from the American tax grid."
My breath caught. "A liquidity fund? Grandfather's entire known estate was tied up in real estate and manufacturing stocks. There was never any mention of an offshore fund."
"Of course there wasn't," Victoria interjected, stepping up beside Vance and resting a hand possessively on his shoulder. "Because it wasn't meant for you, Myriam. You were always the family outcast, the corporate drone who cared too much about compliance and ethics. Grandfather set up the Zurich vault for the true heir. And when Victoria here reached out to my firm with the family lineage papers, the vault unlocked itself."
I stared at them, my brain processing the intricate web of deceit. "You didn't just find a key, Victoria. You partnered with an international corporate raider. You're selling whatever is inside that box to the highest bidder, aren't you?"
Vance adjusted his glasses, his pale eyes locking onto mine with chilling intensity. "Not selling, Ms. Prescott. Restructuring. The contents of that safety deposit box include bearer bonds, private equity deeds, and a proprietary encryption key that controls twenty percent of Vance Global Logistics—a shipping empire that dwarfs your family's previous holdings. And legally speaking, because your grandfather's original birth certificate listed a maternal surname that Victoria successfully claimed through an affidavit... the majority control of that fund now belongs to your sister."
Victoria beamed, her eyes sparkling with unadulterated greed. "That's right, sister dearest. I am no longer broke. I am no longer begging. In fact, as of ten minutes ago, my legal team filed an emergency injunction freezing every single business account, commercial property, and personal asset you currently own."
Julian’s expression darkened into a thunderous storm. "You did what?"
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"You heard me," Victoria sneered, stepping closer, emboldened by the presence of her powerful new ally. "You thought you could strip our name and leave us in the gutter? The table has turned. By sunrise, this condo, your cars, your boutique investments, and your precious little clinic downtown will be seized under federal asset-freezing orders tied to the Zurich inheritance dispute. You're completely wiped out, Myriam. And this time, there's no grandfather left to save you."
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