Chapter 4 - The Truth in Cream and Ink
At the emergency room of St. Jude’s Hospital, the medical staff moved quickly. Claire was placed in a private room, hooked up to monitors, and given warm blankets and IV fluids.
The doctor assured me that the baby’s heartbeat was strong and that Claire’s blood pressure, while elevated, was stabilizing.
"She needs absolute rest, Mr. Vance," Dr. Sarah Jenkins said, standing outside the door with me. "No stress. No uninvited guests. If her pressure spikes again, we will have to perform an emergency C-section weeks early."
"No one gets into this room without my permission," I assured her. "I’m putting private security at the door."
Once Claire was resting comfortably, I sat in the armchair beside her bed and unfolded the letter she had pulled from her pocket.
The handwriting was unmistakable—the sharp, decisive slant of my father, Arthur Vance, written just three weeks before his sudden heart attack two years ago.
To my son, Julian,
If you are reading this, it means Eleanor and Marcus have acted as I feared they would. My illness has shown me their true natures. They view this family not as a bond, but as a bank account to be exploited.
I have placed the master deeds to all international assets, along with the controlling shares of Vance Logistics, into a private vault at First National Bank. The key code is known only to you and my personal attorney, David Sterling.
Marcus has amassed over twelve million dollars in secret personal debt. Eleanor has aided him in falsifying accounting records. If I pass before I can publicly amend my will, do not trust them. Protect your own family, Julian. Do not let them destroy what took thirty years to build.
Your loving father,
Arthur
My hands shook slightly as I finished reading.
All those years I had spent working eighty hours a week overseas, thinking I was supporting my family, I had actually been funding Marcus’s gambling losses and my mother’s opulent lifestyle. And when Claire had discovered the truth, they had tried to silence her.
My phone rang. The screen displayed an unknown caller ID.
I answered and stepped into the hallway. "Julian Vance."
"Julian, it’s David Sterling," a low voice said. "Your father’s personal attorney. Rosa just called my office from a payphone near the estate. She told me what happened this morning."
May you like
"David," I breathed. "I have my father's letter."
"I know," Sterling replied quietly. "And it’s time we execute your father’s real final wishes. But you need to move fast, Julian. Marcus just filed an emergency petition with the probate court to freeze your personal accounts, claiming you are mentally unfit to manage the estate."
