Chapter 4 - The Back Bay Confrontation
The rain had turned into a thick, freezing sleet by three-thirty in the morning, coating the brick townhouses of Back Bay in a dangerous, glassy sheen. Inside the wood-paneled study of Vance & Sons Legal, Thomas Vance sat in a silk dressing gown, his face pale as he looked at the two men standing in his doorway.
Adrien Blackwell didn't remove his wet coat. He walked straight into the room, his boots leaving wet, dark tracks across the antique Persian rug. Behind him, Marcus stood by the door, his large frame blocking the hallway light.
"Adrien, it's three in the morning," Thomas Vance said, trying to maintain the smooth, patrician tone of a Back Bay lawyer. "If this is about the Meridian Harbor filings, we can address it at the office—"
Adrien didn't speak. He reached into his coat and slammed the yellowed manila envelope onto the center of the mahogany desk, right next to Thomas's glass of scotch.
The note from Richard Vance sat face-up under the green library lamp.
Thomas looked down at his father’s handwriting. The color didn't just leave his face; his hands began to shake so violently that the ice cubes in his glass clinked against the crystal.
"Your father kept a secret file, Thomas," Adrien said, his voice dangerously quiet, carrying the weight of a man who had spent the last two hours staring into the grave of his own honor. "He hid the existence of my sons from me so the Blackwell board could clear the 2018 share issuance. And you’ve been holding the secondary estate files ever since."
"Adrien, I had nothing to do with that," Thomas whispered, backing away from the desk. "My father did what he thought was necessary to protect the Blackwell family interest. If the voting block had been frozen, your uncle would have liquidated the maritime division. The company would have been dismantled."
"I don't care about the company," Adrien said. He stepped forward, his hand closing around the lapel of Thomas’s silk gown, pulling the lawyer forward until their faces were inches apart. "You knew. When I asked you last year if there were any residual claims from Naomi's estate, you told me the files were clean. You lied to me for four years, Thomas."
"It was a non-disclosure agreement!" Thomas choked out, his eyes darting toward Marcus, who remained motionless by the door. "The board signed off on it! Your uncle... your uncle paid the medical bills anonymously through a shell company in Switzerland to ensure Naomi didn't sue for medical neglect!"
Adrien let go of the lapel, his expression shifting from rage to an absolute, chilling disgust. He wiped his hand on his trousers as if he had touched something rotted.
"Marcus," Adrien said.
"Sir?"
"Take the files. Every box from 2018. If the firm objects, call the state bar association and the federal prosecutor for wire fraud. Tell them Blackwell Holdings is turning state's evidence against its own legal counsel."
May you like
He turned back to Thomas, who had collapsed into his leather chair, his face buried in his hands. "You have until sunrise to pack your desk, Thomas. If I see your name on the Blackwell letterhead by eight o'clock, I will personally ensure that you spend the next ten winters in a federal cell where the heat doesn't work."
Adrien walked out of the townhouse into the freezing sleet, the paper scan of the three tiny shadows pressed tightly against his ribs beneath his wet shirt like a live coal.
