Chapter 36 - The Ghost of the Vance Estate
The name hung in the freezing mountain air like a death sentence. *Marcus.*
Twelve years ago, the Vance family had mourned the tragic drowning of my brilliant, twenty-two-year-old grandson during a sailing trip off the coast of Maine. His body was never recovered, the Coast Guard closing the case after finding his empty dinghy drifting miles out to sea. Richard had wept at the memorial service; Victoria had worn black for an entire year. The tragedy had been the first major crack in the foundation of our family dynasty—the moment grief began to rot us from the inside out.
And now, according to the cream-colored cardstock resting in my lap, Marcus was not only alive, but he was the mastermind behind the Zurich trust and the systematic dismantling of Richard’s empire.
I read the typewritten words aloud, my voice steady despite the howling wind:
*"Dear Grandmother, they told you I died in the cold water of the Atlantic. But the truth is, I was pushed overboard just like you were pushed into the lake—only my executioner wore a tie that matched my father's. It’s time to settle the family debt. Meet me at the old logging mill at the base of the north ridge within the hour. Come alone, or the digital keys to the remaining family assets are scrubbed from the global servers forever."*
"It's a trap," Sarah said immediately, stepping back from the vehicle and resting her hand on her radio mic. "We call in tactical backup, lock down the entire perimeter, and trace the IP address of whoever printed this letter. We don't walk into an ambush."
"If we wait for tactical backup, Marcus—or whoever is using his name—will wipe the servers," I replied, looking up at Sarah with unyielding resolve. "Richard’s empire is built on stolen foundations, but if those assets vanish into untraceable offshore voids, the Vance legacy is destroyed beyond repair. I didn't survive freezing water just to watch everything I built evaporate into nothing."
"Evelyn, you can't be serious," Sarah argued, her voice rising over the wind. "You’re talking about walking into an abandoned industrial mill in the middle of a Category 4 blizzard to confront a ghost!"
"I am the matriarch of this family," I said, my tone dropping to a chilling register that brooked no argument. "And if my grandson is alive—or if someone is using his ghost to terrorize my bloodline—I have a right to look him in the eye."
May you like
Sarah stared at me for a long, agonizing moment, recognizing the absolute steel in my expression. Finally, she exhaled a sharp breath of frosty air, keying her comms unit. "All units, listen up. We’re altering our route. We’re heading down to the old logging mill on the north ridge. Maintain radio silence and keep a two-mile perimeter. If I give the signal, move in and flatten the place."
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