Chapter 4 - The Boardroom Ambush
The elevator doors opened directly into the private foyer of my penthouse suite.
Arthur Vance walked out first, dressed in a three-piece navy suit, holding an Italian leather briefcase. Behind him walked Richard Sterling, a silver-haired defense attorney known throughout Denver for getting rich men out of ugly domestic situations.
Arthur didn't look at the white bandage on my head. He didn't ask how I was feeling.
He walked into my living room as if he owned the floorboards beneath his feet, set his briefcase on my marble coffee table, and unbuttoned his suit jacket.
"Valerie," Arthur began, his voice deep, booming, and accustomed to obedience. "This little dramatic exercise has gone far enough. Diego spent the night in a county jail cell alongside common criminals. His mother hasn't slept a wink. You’ve made your point."
I stayed standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows, my arms crossed over my chest. "My point, Arthur?"
"You wanted respect," Arthur said, waving his hand dismissively. "Fine. Victoria was out of line suggesting you move out. Diego lost his temper. It was an unfortunate domestic accident. Richard here has drafted a mutual release agreement."
Richard Sterling stepped forward, opening his leather portfolio and sliding a three-page document across the table toward me.
"Mrs. Vance," Sterling said in a smooth, polished voice. "If you sign this affidavit stating that the incident was an accidental slip during a family argument, Mr. Vance will agree to pay your medical bills, cover a two-week vacation for you in Cabo, and pay you fifty thousand dollars in personal compensation. In exchange, the district attorney will drop the felony charges."
I looked down at the document. Then I looked at Nathan, who was standing quietly near the kitchen island.
"Nathan," I said softly. "Could you read paragraph four out loud for Mr. Vance?"
Nathan picked up the paper, his voice calm and clinical.
"Paragraph Four: The affiant, Valerie Vance, agrees to surrender all voting rights in the Vance Family Asset Holding LLC and grants Diego Vance full administrative authority over all residential real estate holdings standing in her name..."
Nathan set the paper down and looked at Arthur. "You really thought my sister was stupid enough to sign away her life work for fifty grand and a trip to Mexico?"
Arthur’s face turned a deep, angry red. "Who the hell are you?"
"I’m Nathan Yates," my brother said, stepping forward and handing Arthur his official business card. "Senior Managing Partner at Yates, Vance & Croft. And I am Valerie’s legal representation."
Arthur looked at the card, then looked at Nathan, the arrogance in his eyes suddenly replaced by a sharp, flickering flicker of panic.
"Yates?" Arthur stammered. "You're... you're Arthur Yates's son?"
"I am," Nathan replied coldly. "And my firm represents the primary lender holding the five-million-dollar commercial mortgage on your flagship dealership on Arapahoe Road."
The silence in the living room was so heavy you could hear the soft hum of the refrigerator.
Sterling, the high-priced defense attorney, slowly pulled his hand back from the table, looking at Arthur with a sudden realization that he was standing on a sinking ship.
"Now, Arthur," I said, taking three steps forward until I was standing two feet from my father-in-law. "Here is how this is actually going to work."
"You... you can't touch my dealerships," Arthur rasped, his voice losing all its booming authority.
"Your son committed felony assault against my client," Nathan said, sliding a thick blue folder across the table. "We have the 911 recording. We have the emergency room medical report. We have statement recordings from three witnesses at your dinner table, including your daughter-in-law Natalie."
Nathan tapped the folder. "And as of eight o'clock this morning, we filed a civil suit in Denver District Court for intentional infliction of emotional distress, battery, and financial fraud. We are seeking eight million dollars in punitive damages."
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Arthur dropped into the nearest armchair, his hands trembling as he stared at the legal documents. "Eight million... that... that will bankrupt us..."
"Then I suggest you tell your son to get used to wearing orange," I said, my voice as cold as winter rain. "Because he is going to prison."
