Chapter 5 - The Stolen Blueprint
The dawn light that filtered through the tenth-floor recovery suite at St. Jude’s was cold, gray, and unforgiving.
Ethan was out on bail by 9:00 AM. His family’s legal retainers were legendary; a judge had signed his release on a five-hundred-thousand-dollar bond before the morning news cycle could even print his mugshot. But bail couldn't buy back the narrative.
By noon, the financial markets had opened, and Vance Enterprises stock was down twelve percent.
I sat in an armchair near the nursery window, holding Maya against my chest. My body still throbbed with the deep, sickening ache of a major abdominal procedure, but the painkillers were doing their job, keeping the fire at a dull simmer.
The door opened softly, and Julian walked in, carrying a leather-bound folio.
“He’s at the corporate headquarters on Madison Avenue,” Julian said, taking a seat across from me. “He’s holding an emergency board meeting behind closed doors. He managed to secure proxies from his two uncles. Together, they still control thirty-eight percent of the active voting stock.”
“And me?” I asked.
“Your father’s twenty-five percent is officially unlocked,” Julian said, placing a heavy document on the small table between us. “Because you delivered an heir carrying Hollister blood before your thirtieth birthday, the estate trust has fully vested in your name alone. Ethan no longer has power of attorney over your shares. You are the single largest individual shareholder in Vance-Sterling Logistics.”
“Can we strip his CEO title?”
“Not cleanly,” Julian admitted, his brow furrowing. “His uncles are dug in. They believe if Ethan is removed publicly, the company’s valuation will crash by half. They’re willing to sweep the medical negligence under the rug, settle with the DA’s office for a fine, and push a corporate restructuring that sidelines you.”
“They think I’m an invalid in a hospital bed,” I murmured.
“They think you’re a grieving, traumatized mother who will take a twenty-million-dollar payout and disappear to a villa in Tuscany,” Julian said. “Ethan’s lawyer just sent this over.”
He slid a single sheet of paper across the table.
It was a non-disclosure agreement paired with a custody settlement.
*Twenty-five million dollars.*
*Sole physical custody of Maya to Claire Vance, on the condition that Maya Vance formally renounces all claims to the Hollister-Vance Trust.*
*A full media blackout regarding the events of the labor and delivery wing.*
*And Ethan retains full operational control of the enterprise.*
I looked down at the signature line where Ethan’s sleek, predatory signature was already stamped. He still thought this was a negotiation. He still thought everything in life could be bought, leveraged, or intimidated.
“Where is Serena?” I asked.
“Still in Suite A,” Julian replied, a thin smile touching his lips. “Under police guard. The DA is looking into whether she was an active co-conspirator in the fraudulent trust claim. If she knew the child wasn't a Hollister and attempted to execute the probate deed, she’s looking at five to ten years for grand larceny by false pretenses.”
“She knew,” I said. “Serena isn't clever, Julian, but she is greedy. She wouldn't have carried another woman’s supposed child without demanding an escrow account to secure her future.”
“And that escrow account?”
“Was funded through Vance-Sterling Logistics' research budget,” Caleb’s voice piped up as he walked through the door, carrying a fresh set of vitals charts. He closed the door behind him and locked the latch. “I did some digging through the St. Jude’s historical procurement logs last night, Mrs. Vance.”
“What did you find, Caleb?”
“The five million dollars Ethan wired to Zurich two years ago didn't come from his personal accounts,” Caleb said, handing Julian a flash drive. “It was logged as an exploratory grant for St. Jude’s fertility research, signed off by Ethan in his capacity as the hospital’s executive treasurer. He embezzled charitable foundation money to pay for his private surrogacy scheme.”
Julian whistled, a low, dangerous note. “That’s federal wire fraud. That’s not a state fine, Claire. That’s five to eight years in a federal penitentiary.”
I stood up slowly, clutching Maya against my shoulder, every muscle in my abdomen screaming in protest.
“Claire, sit down,” Julian warned, half-rising. “You’re barely twenty-four hours post-op.”
“Bring me my dress,” I said to Caleb.
“Mrs. Vance—”
“Bring me the dark blue wool dress from my locker,” I commanded, my voice cold as winter frost. “The one with the pearl buttons. And call a car.”
“Claire,” Julian said, staring at me with a mixture of shock and awe. “The Madison Avenue meeting starts in forty-five minutes.”
May you like
“Then we have thirty minutes to get through the security gates,” I replied, looking into the mirror on the wall. My skin was chalky, my eyes hollow with dark circles, but my gaze was entirely unyielding. “Ethan wants a board meeting? Let’s give him one he’ll never forget.”
***
