Chapter 3 - The Gathering of Scavengers
By the third week following the execution of the promissory note, the Vance family dynasty had devolved into a spectacle of infighting, finger-pointing, and utter desperation.
Without Andrew’s corporate wealth to fund their lavish lifestyles, loan their adult children seed money, and pay for annual family retreats, the ninety-plus relatives who had sat in the Charlottesville ballroom suddenly found themselves facing their own financial realities.
Uncles who had invested heavily in Andrew’s fraudulent tech logistics company saw their life savings wiped out overnight. Cousins who held cushion jobs within the company were handed pink slips by the court-appointed bankruptcy trustee.
And, predictably, they turned on each other like starved animals.
I was sitting in the library of my new home, reviewing the preliminary architectural designs for the expansion of the Gallagher-Vance Trust—a foundation I was establishing using the liquidated assets to fund scholarships for young women in STEM—when my housekeeper announced an unexpected visitor.
"Mrs. Vance... excuse me, Ms. Gallagher," she corrected herself quickly. "There is a gentleman at the gate. He claims to be Andrew’s uncle, Richard Vance. He says it’s an urgent matter regarding the children."
I narrowed my eyes. Richard Vance was Patricia’s older brother, a retired real estate speculator who had spent the entire Charlottesville gala boasting about his wine collection while ignoring my daughters as they were stripped of their food.
"Let him in," I said calmly. "And call private security to stand in the hallway."
Five minutes later, Richard Vance stepped into my library.
He was a tall, silver-haired man who usually carried himself with unbearable pomposity. Today, his posture was stiff, his eyes darting nervously around the luxurious room, taking in the original oil paintings and high-end furnishings I had purchased with my own independent inheritance.
"Elena," Richard began, forcing a tight, unnatural smile as he held out a hand I refused to shake. "Thank you for seeing me. You... you have a lovely home here."
"State your business, Richard," I said, remaining seated behind my desk. "I am a very busy woman."
Richard cleared his throat, his face flushing slightly at my cold tone. He sat down in the leather chair across from me, leaning forward with his hands clasped together.
"Elena, I come to you as the patriarch of the Vance family," he said, trying to summon an air of dignity. "What has happened over the past few weeks is... deeply tragic. Andrew made terrible mistakes. Terrible, foolish mistakes. He lied to us all."
"Did he?" I asked smoothly. "Or did he simply give you the illusion of wealth that all of you were all too eager to consume?"
Richard winced, but pushed forward. "Be that as it may, the family is suffering, Elena. Patricia is currently staying in a cheap motel near the highway. Andrew is living in a rented studio apartment, facing federal indictments. My own investments in Vance Logistics have been completely wiped out!"
"And how does any of this concern me?"
Richard took a deep breath, his eyes glinting with desperate greed. "You hold the senior lien, Elena. The court liquidations are bringing in millions. If you enforce the full penalty interest on the 5.4 million peso note, there will be nothing left for the unsecured creditors—which includes me and three of Andrew's cousins! We are family, Elena! You were married to Andrew for nine years!"
I let out a quiet, genuine laugh that echoed off the high ceilings of the library.
"Family?" I asked, leaning forward, resting my forearms on the polished mahogany. "Where was the 'family' when Patricia pulled the dinner plates away from my five-year-old daughter?"
Richard blinked, startled. "That... that was just Patricia being traditional, Elena! She's an old-fashioned woman—"
"Where were you, Richard, when my eight-year-old daughter looked around that ballroom, covered in gravy, silently begging someone—anyone—to stand up for her?" I pressed, my voice dropping into an icy register that made Richard shrink back into his seat. "You were sitting three feet away, staring at your smartphone, drinking twenty-year-old scotch that my father's money paid for."
"Elena, you can't blame the entire family for Patricia’s behavior!" Richard protested, his voice rising.
"I don't blame you for her behavior, Richard," I said softly. "I blame you for your cowardice. You saw a mother and two young girls being publicly humiliated, and you stayed silent because you thought Andrew’s money was going to make you rich. You made a calculation. And now, you are paying the price for that calculation."
Richard stood up abruptly, his face turning dark with anger. "You are being ruthless! Unforgiving! You are taking food out of the mouths of Andrew's extended family!"
"No, Richard," I corrected him, standing up to meet his gaze, my six-foot stature and cold posture completely dominating the room. "I am teaching you the same lesson Patricia tried to teach my daughters: actions have consequences. Now, get out of my house before my security guards remove you by force."
Two tall, muscular security officers stepped into the doorway of the library, their arms folded across their chests.
Richard glared at me, his lip trembling with pure, impotent rage. "You think you've won, Elena? You're a lonely woman with two fatherless girls! The Vance name will recover from this!"
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"The Vance name is garbage, Richard," I said plainly, turning my back on him to look out at the sunlit garden. "And my daughters no longer carry it. Their legal name change to Gallagher was approved by the court yesterday."
Richard uttered a strangled curse, turned on his heel, and stormed out of the house, his footsteps echoing furiously down the hallway until the heavy front door slammed shut behind him.
