Chapter 25 - The Ghost of Jason Vance
The private jet touched down at Milan’s Linate Airport under the cover of night. By dawn, Francesca, Julian, and Aurelia were securely installed within the heavily guarded walls of Villa Rossi on Lake Como.
Yet peace was an illusion.
Forty-eight hours after their return from Switzerland, a storm erupted across international financial media. A leak had sprung—not from Zurich, but from New York.
Jason Vance had been released on heavy bail pending his appeal in the Southern District of New York. Stripped of his CEO title, ostracized by the Manhattan social circle, and facing financial ruin, the disgraced financier had caught wind of Nicole’s death in Danbury prison. More dangerously, Jason’s high-priced defense attorneys had obtained an unauthorized copy of the Geneva probate filing.
Sitting in her glass-walled architectural studio overlooking the lake, Francesca stared at the television screen as CNBC broadcasted live from Wall Street.
*"...In a stunning twist to the ongoing Vance Capital fraud saga, sources confirm that Jason Vance has filed an emergency multi-jurisdictional injunction in Milan and Geneva. Vance claims he was unlawfully deprived of custody of his late mistress's two-year-old daughter, who is currently residing in Italy with his ex-wife, famed architect Francesca Moretti, and Italian billionaire Julian Rossi. Vance is demanding full paternal custody and an immediate five-hundred-million-dollar restitution claim against the Rossi estate for alleged custodial interference..."*
Francesca’s phone buzzed violently on the desk. The caller ID displayed an unlisted New York number.
Taking a deep breath, Francesca pressed accept and put it on speaker.
"Hello, Jason," she said, her voice ice-cold.
A rasping, bitter laugh came through the line. Jason sounded haggard, his once-charismatic voice strained by months of alcohol, stress, and humiliation.
"Francesca," Jason spat, his arrogance still dripping through every syllable. "You really thought you could run off to Italy, play the grand duchess with that Italian pretty-boy, and steal my daughter?"
"She is not your daughter, Jason," Francesca said plainly. "You are living in a delusion. Nicole lied to you from the second she laid eyes on you at the Metropolitan Gala."
"You’re lying!" Jason snarled, slamming his fist onto a desk on his end of the line. "The baby was conceived while she was with me! I paid for her private suites in the Hamptons! I gave up my marriage for that baby! Do you hear me? I threw away eleven years for that child! If she isn't mine, then what was it all for?!"
The sheer, pathetic tragedy of his words hung in the air. Jason had destroyed his life, his reputation, and his vow to Francesca, not out of love for Nicole, but out of an unholy obsession with his own genetic vanity.
"It was for nothing, Jason," Francesca said softly, feeling a sudden, profound wave of closure wash over her. "You threw away our marriage for a ghost. For a transaction. And now, you want to use an innocent two-year-old orphan as a bargaining chip to settle your legal debts."
"I have rights, Francesca! My lawyers are landing in Milan tonight. We’re filing an ex-parte emergency seizure order with the Italian juvenile courts. I will drag you through the press until the name Moretti is dragged through the mud alongside mine! You want to be a mother so badly? Let's see how much you love being a mother under federal deposition!"
"Try it, Jason," Francesca replied, her voice dropping into a steady, lethal calm. "Step foot in Italy. File your paperwork. The moment you do, the Swiss forensic DNA results will be entered into public record, proving your paternity is absolute zero. And along with it, the financial records proving Nicole received ten million dollars in wire transfers from your offshore holding company—the very funds you hid from the Department of Justice."
A suffocating silence fell over the New York line. Jason’s ragged breathing became audible.
"You wouldn't," Jason whispered, terror finally cracking through his bluster.
"I am not the weeping woman you left in the Park Avenue penthouse with a fountain pen and a divorce agreement," Francesca said with finality. "I built an empire with my own hands. Touch this child, Jason, and I will ensure your bail is revoked before you even clear customs."
She ended the call, cutting him off mid-sentence.
As she lowered the phone, she turned to find Julian standing in the doorway of the studio. He wore a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, his eyes shining with profound admiration.
May you like
"The lioness has awakened," Julian murmured with a proud smile.
"This is only the first strike, Julian," Francesca said, walking toward him. "The media will descend on Como by sunset. We need to handle your family board before they try to weaponize Aurelia against us."
