Chapter 2 - THE BOARDROOM SHADOWS
By 8:00 AM the following morning, the video of the slap had crossed twelve million views across social media platforms.
A high-profile guest—the thirty-two-year-old wife of a tech venture capitalist whom Richard had slighted during a dinner party two months prior—had uploaded a high-definition 4K recording directly to a major news network. The caption read: Billionaire Richard Vance assaults pregnant daughter-in-law at luxury family baby shower.
The fallout was instantaneous and brutal.
I lay in my high-risk maternity bed on the fourth floor of St. Jude’s Hospital, surrounded by three digital heart monitors and an IV pole dripping progesterone and anti-contraction medication. Daniel sat beside me, his laptop open, his phone buzzing every four seconds on silent mode.
On the television mounted in the corner of the room, CNBC was broadcasting a live feed from outside the Manhattan headquarters of the Vance Group.
“...shares of Vance Group International dropped by 14% in early morning trading following the release of a graphic video showing Chairman Richard Vance striking his daughter-in-law, Emily Vance,” the news anchor reported. “Institutional investors are calling for an emergency board meeting as pressure mounts on the company’s ESG oversight committee. Major retail partners have already begun pulling sponsorship deals for the upcoming Vance Charity Gala...”
Daniel closed his laptop with a quiet snap. “The board called an emergency session for 10:00 AM.”
“Are you going?” I asked, reaching over to touch his wrist.
Daniel looked down at his hands. For years, Daniel had walked a tightrope between his father’s immense, suffocating influence and his own desire for independence. He had worked as a public interest attorney, refusing a seat on the board, trying to live a clean life away from the Vance empire. But Richard had always held the trust funds over his head, subtly threatening to cut off funding for Daniel’s legal clinic whenever Daniel refused to attend family publicity events.
“I have to go, Emily,” Daniel said, his voice quiet, heavy, but laced with a dark iron. “If I don't go, my uncle Arthur and my father will control the room. They’re already drafting a press release claiming I am 'mentally unstable' and that you are seeking a multi-million-dollar divorce settlement through staged publicity.”
“They’re blaming me for getting slapped?” I asked, a bitter, humorless smile touching my lips.
“They’re blaming you for existing,” Daniel corrected gently, leaning down to press a soft kiss against my forehead. “Richard cannot handle the fact that his legacy—his first grandchild—is growing inside a woman he couldn't buy, control, or break. I’m going to that meeting to deliver a message from both of us.”
Before Daniel could leave the room, the door opened, and a tall, elegant woman in a tailored navy pantsuit walked in.
It was Victoria Vance—Daniel’s thirty-four-year-old older sister, the very woman whose baby shower had ended in blood and broken glass. She carried a massive bouquet of yellow freesias and a thick leather briefcase.
Daniel immediately stepped between her and my bed, his jaw set. “Victoria. What are you doing here? Did Dad send you to smooth things over?”
Victoria didn't flinch. She set the flowers on the window sill, walked past Daniel, and looked directly down at me. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face pale without her usual television-ready makeup.
“I brought these from my garden,” Victoria said softly, her voice trembling slightly. “Yellow freesias mean trust, Emily. I know I haven't earned yours. I know I sat at that head table for three years while my father made subtle, cruel remarks about your background, your clothes, and your fertility. I stayed quiet because I was afraid he would revoke the funding for my pediatric foundation.”
She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a clean digital tablet.
“Yesterday,” Victoria continued, looking at Daniel, “when he struck Emily, when I saw her blood on my terrace floor... I realized that my father doesn't love us. He loves his reflection. And he will bleed every single one of us dry to keep that reflection polished.”
She tapped the screen of the tablet and turned it toward us.
On the screen was an official corporate proxy ballot for the Vance Group board of directors. Beneath Victoria’s signature was her 12% voting share in the family enterprise—the share handed to her on her thirtieth birthday.
“I’m transferring my proxy vote to Daniel,” Victoria said, her chin lifting with sudden, unmistakable Vance pride. “At ten o'clock, Richard thinks he has a 51% controlling bloc with his inner circle. With my shares combined with Daniel’s trust allocation, we tie the board 50-50. We can freeze his executive authority before the market opens tomorrow.”
Daniel stared at his sister in absolute shock. “Victoria... if you do this, Dad will strip your foundation’s endowment. He’ll cut you off entirely.”
May you like
Victoria looked down at her own rounded stomach, placing her hand over her unborn child.
“Let him,” she whispered, her eyes burning with fierce, uncompromising clarity. “I would rather my child grow up with a broke mother than a grandfather who strikes pregnant women on stone terraces.”
