Chapter 4 - The Knock at the Door
Three floors below, in Villa 14, Ethan was tearing through his luggage like a feral animal.
"Where is the file?" he barked, dumping a leather weekend bag onto the king-sized bed. "Vanessa! Where did you put the revised prospectus for the London group?"
Vanessa stood frozen near the open French doors leading to the private plunge pool, clutching a glass of champagne she hadn't taken a single sip of. Her foundation looked patchy under the Caribbean sun.
"Ethan, did you hear what Declan Pierce said?" Vanessa’s voice shook. "He said Vance Enterprises is his investment. He was standing right next to her. They came here *together*."
"Grace doesn't know Declan Pierce," Ethan snarled, throwing shirts onto the marble floor. "She knows garden clubs, art galas, and pediatricians! Declan Pierce is an institutional predator. He doesn't deal with people like Grace."
"Then why were they in the private elevator?" Vanessa cried out, her composure finally shattering. "Ethan, she looked right through me! She didn't scream, she didn't cry—she called me out on my shoes! A woman whose husband is cheating on her doesn't talk about shoes unless she has something so big behind her that she doesn't care about the marriage anymore!"
Ethan froze. His breathing was ragged.
The truth in Vanessa’s words hit him like a physical blow, cold and sickening. Grace hadn't shed a single tear. She hadn't even raised her voice. When Ethan had stepped forward, her eyes hadn't carried the frantic agony of a wounded spouse. They had held the chilling boredom of an auditor closing an irrelevant ledger.
Suddenly, a sharp, authoritative knock echoed from the heavy mahogany front door of the villa.
Ethan straightened his collar, attempting to pull himself together. "Stay here."
He walked through the foyer and pulled the door open.
It wasn't hotel staff. Standing on the porch was a tall, severe woman in a dark gray sheath dress, holding a tablet and an envelope wrapped in heavy red ribbon. Behind her stood two private security officers with earpieces, their hands clasped loosely in front of them.
"Ethan Vance?" the woman asked without inflection.
"Yes. Who are you?"
"My name is Eleanor Vance-Hughes, senior legal counsel representing Mrs. Grace Vance and the Trustee Board of Vance Holdings Delaware," she said, holding out the envelope. "You are hereby served with an emergency injunction issued by the Delaware Chancery Court."
Ethan didn't reach for the envelope. "Injunction for what? This is absurd. Grace is my wife."
"As of eight o’clock this morning, the Delaware court has frozen all executive expenditure accounts associated with your name, pending an independent audit of Vance Enterprises’ operational reserves," Eleanor said coolly. "Furthermore, a special shareholder meeting has been convened on-site in the Penthouse Pavilion for four o’clock this afternoon."
"She can't call a shareholder meeting without me! I hold fifty-one percent!" Ethan shouted, his face turning crimson.
"You held fifty-one percent until nine-fifteen AM, Mr. Vance," the lawyer replied, stepping forward and dropping the envelope squarely against Ethan’s chest. "You now hold forty-four percent. The trust has recognized the legacy tranche for your unborn child. Your wife is the sole trustee."
Eleanor glanced past his shoulder into the villa, spotting Vanessa standing pale against the terrace.
May you like
"Oh, and Mr. Vance?" Eleanor added, her tone utterly professional. "The resort management has been notified that your corporate card is no longer valid. If you and your guest wish to keep this villa through tomorrow, you will need to provide personal credit with a sixty-thousand-dollar deposit."
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