Chapter 50 - The Confrontation in the Sunroom
I walked through the double oak doors of St. Jude’s with my head held high, Ellis following half a step behind me, his hand resting near his coat pocket. The interior was quiet, smelling of floor wax and dried chrysanthemums.
A nurse looked up from the reception desk, but before she could speak, Harlan Cross stepped out of the private corridor leading to the sunroom.
He looked unkempt for the first time in his life. His silk tie was askew, his overcoat damp with melted snow, and his eyes bloodshot with manic desperation.
"Abigail," Cross said, forcing an oily smile that didn't reach his eyes. "What an extraordinary coincidence. I was just visiting an old family acquaintance on your father's behalf."
"My father is currently strapped to a bed in the Kent County detention wing, Harlan," I said, my voice echoing off the high plaster ceilings with razor-sharp authority. "And you are trespassing in a private medical facility while holding forged corporate deeds."
Cross’s smile vanished, replaced by a sneer of naked contempt. "You think you're clever because you found that rusted key? Those documents in your hands are twenty-six years old. By Michigan law, a prolonged absence creates an irrevocable presumption of death. Your mother has no legal standing, which means Raymond’s probate claim stands—and my firm holds the master lien on Vance Lumber."
"Eleanor Vance isn't absent, Mr. Cross," a clear, frail voice announced from the sunroom doorway.
Cross froze.
Sitting in a high-backed wheelchair, wrapped in a pale blue knit shawl that matched the scarf in my bag, was a woman with my eyes, my cheekbones, and hair the color of spun silver. Her hands were thin and curled with arthritis, but her posture was as erect and commanding as any Vance who had ever walked the northern forests.
May you like
"Mother," I breathed, the word catching in my throat like a sob.
Eleanor Vance looked past Harlan Cross, her gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that took my breath away. "Hello, my darling Abigail," she said softly. "You look just like Sanford promised you would."
