Chapter 4 - The Citadel Cracks
By Tuesday morning, the shockwave had reached the Elm Street estate.
I was sitting at my parents' dining table, sipping decaf tea and reviewing ultrasound printouts of my daughter when my phone began to vibrate violently against the wood. It was Eleanor.
I let it ring out. It went to voicemail.
Ten seconds later, it started vibrating again. Then came a text message from an unknown number—Richard Vance Sr.’s direct line.
“Clara. Answer the phone right now. What is this nonsense Daniel is telling us about lawsuits, tax audits, and divorce? Get over to the house immediately and explain yourself.”
I stared at the screen, a slow, quiet smile spreading across my face. Get over to the house immediately. They still thought they could summon me like a maid. They still believed their last name carried magical, intimidating weight.
I tapped the screen and replied with a single sentence: “If you have something to say to me, talk to my lawyer. Or better yet, talk to the federal investigator currently reviewing your corporate ledgers.”
I blocked the number before the reply could come through.
Later that afternoon, Ethan stopped by my parents' house with an update. He dropped a manila folder onto the kitchen table, looking highly amused.
"You wouldn't believe the circus happening over at the Vance estate right now," Ethan laughed, pulling out a chair and sitting down.
"What happened?" I asked, leaning forward.
"Your father-in-law tried to pull his usual corporate intimidation tactics on the state tax compliance officer who showed up with a subpoena this morning," Ethan said, shaking his head. "Apparently, Richard Sr. threatened to call the mayor, pull his campaign donations, and sue the state for harassment. The auditor didn't even blink. He just slapped a formal asset-freeze notice on Vance Enterprises and hauled away three boxes of physical ledger books from their corporate office."
"And Daniel?" I asked quietly.
Ethan’s expression sobered. "Daniel is having a full-blown existential crisis. He went crying to his mother yesterday, blaming her for the dinner comment that set all of this in motion. According to our mutual sources, Eleanor slapped him across the face for being weak-willed."
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I winced slightly, feeling a twinge of complex pity that vanished almost as quickly as it arrived. "She slapped her own son?"
"Oh, absolutely," Ethan nodded. "In the Vance family, love is entirely conditional on utility and image. The moment Daniel failed to keep you under control—the moment his wife exposed the family grift—he became a liability. They don't care about the baby, Clara. They don't care about you, and they barely care about Daniel. They only care that their empire of smoke and mirrors is burning down to the ground."
