Chapter 11 - The Reckoning
Three months later.
The crisp October wind whipped golden leaves across the brick courtyard of the federal courthouse on Market Street. My cast was finally off, replaced by a slim, black carbon-fiber brace that supported my healing wrist. I could move my fingers now, though the scars running across the back of my hand remained as permanent, jagged reminders of the night my life fractured.
My phone chimed in my pocket.
It was 4:00 PM on the second Friday of October—the exact moment the Board of Law Examiners released the statewide results.
My left hand was completely steady as I unlocked the phone and navigated to the public portal. I scrolled down the alphabetical roster until I reached the *V*s.
*Vance, Clara E. — PASS.*
A tear spilled over my lashes, hot and silent, tracking down my cheek. I had passed in the 98th percentile.
Across town, the fallout had already decimated my father's empire. Marcus Vance had surrendered his medical license to avoid prison time, turning state's evidence against Charles Vance for suborning perjury. Sterling & Vance had stripped my father’s name from the firm’s brass plaque on the thirty-fourth floor, forcing his immediate resignation. Vanessa’s trial was set for January.
I turned toward the entrance of the Federal Defender’s Office to share the news with my new colleagues.
Then my phone vibrated again.
It was an unknown number with a Washington, D.C. area code.
I answered it. "Clara Vance."
"Miss Vance," a low, gravelly voice spoke on the other end. "My name is Special Agent Daniel Cole with the Department of Justice, Public Corruption Division."
My stomach tightened. "If this is about my father's state charges, you should speak to the District Attorney."
"This isn't about your father's state assault charges, Miss Vance," the agent said, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on my arms stand up. "We just executed a federal search warrant on your father's private safe deposit box at the Mellon Bank downtown."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because three days before your sister attacked you in that garage, your father took out a five-million-dollar key-person insurance policy on your life, naming an offshore shell corporation as the sole beneficiary."
The courtyard around me seemed to tilt. The autumn air turned freezing cold.
"And Miss Vance?" Agent Cole continued, his voice tight. "The brake lines on the Mercedes you were standing next to in that garage? They weren't damaged by the floor jack. They were cut with hydraulic shears two hours before you ever walked down those stairs. Vanessa wasn't trying to break your hand, Clara."
A car engine revved violently at the corner of Market and 6th Street.
May you like
I looked up.
A black SUV with heavily tinted windows and no front license plate had just blown through the red light, its bumper accelerating straight toward the pedestrian crosswalk where I stood.
