On the morning of my wedding, my mother threw my $2,000 silk dress into the fireplace / Chapter 31 / 53

Chapter 31 - The Boardroom Ghost

"They're already inside," Ruiz whispered, drawing his sidearm and checking the chamber. "Julian, stay behind me. Elaine, under no circumstances do you leave this vehicle until I clear the perimeter."

"I'm going with you, Detective," Lucas said grimly, producing an iron crowbar from beneath his seat. "I know the layout of the cabin. There's a basement cistern entrance around the back."

"No one goes anywhere without a plan," Julian said firmly, his eyes fixed on the illuminated cabin windows. "Vance has resources, but he doesn't have legitimacy. I’ve just transmitted the birth certificates and Arthur’s notarized affidavit to the federal prosecutor's office via our private legal channel. In fifteen minutes, federal marshals will be authorized to execute a search warrant on every Vanguard facility on the East Coast."

"Vance isn't looking for a trial, Julian," I said, staring at the cabin. "He wants to burn the servers. Once the biometric drives are ashes, the patents revert to public domain according to the original charter—and Vanguard can claim them by prior application."

Suddenly, the front door of the cabin swung open.

A tall man stepped out onto the covered wooden porch. He held an umbrella in one hand and a gold-tipped cane in the other. He wore a tailored wool trench coat, completely unbothered by the storm.

It was Sterling Vance.

Beside him stood two private security guards holding red plastic jerrycans of gasoline.

Vance raised his hand, looking straight through the rain toward our idling SUV, as if he had known we were watching all along. He pulled out a sleek microphone linked to a mobile loudspeaker mounted on his lead vehicle.

"Elaine! Lucas!" Vance’s smooth, aristocratic voice echoed across the clearing, slicing cleanly through the roar of the rain. "There is no need for this uncivilized dramatics. Your mother, Clara, was a brilliant woman, but she was an idealist who didn't understand the realities of market stability. Her research belongs to the world—not locked away in a private trust for two traumatized children."

Julian’s hand gripped my arm, but I didn't feel fear. A strange, glacial calm settled over me.

"Julian," I said softly, looking at the man who had abandoned his own high-society pedigree to stand in the mud beside me. "Unlock the door."