Chapter 9 - The Ambush
Before I could answer, the frosted glass door of Arthur’s reception area was shoved open with violent force.
The loud, abrasive voice of Regina Vance cut through the quiet law offices. "I don't care if he’s in a meeting! My daughter’s life has been ruined, and that woman is going to pay for what she did!"
Arthur stood up instantly, his face darkening with fury as he pressed the intercom on his desk. "Security to the main boardroom immediately."
The door flew open. Tiffany marched in, looking like a ghost of the polished socialite who had stood beneath the floral arch forty-eight hours earlier. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, her designer trench coat was wrinkled, and the fury in her eyes was unhinged.
Behind her stood Richard Vance, his suit rumpled, and Brandon, who looked as if he hadn't slept or eaten since Saturday night.
"You!" Tiffany shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at me. "You bitter, pathetic old hag! You posted that video! You leaked it to the media to destroy me!"
"Miss Vance," Arthur commanded, his voice cutting like a whip. "You are trespassing on private legal property. Step out of this office before the marshals remove you in cuffs."
"Shut up!" Tiffany screamed, slamming her hands onto the polished conference table. "She ruined my reputation! I was dropped by three brand sponsorships this morning! My father’s firm had four clients pull out because of that trending clip! She owes us an apology, and she owes us five hundred thousand dollars for the emotional distress and breach of public contract!"
Richard Vance stepped forward, trying to maintain an air of legal authority despite his trembling hands. "Sterling, you know this won't hold up. Eleanor signed the master agreement with Grandview Estate. Her unilateral termination constituted a willful bad-faith breach designed to inflict public humiliation on my family. We will sue her into the gutter."
I didn't flinch. I didn't raise my voice. I slowly stood up, smoothing down the fabric of my wool skirt, and looked directly at the girl who had struck me.
"Tiffany," I said, my voice ice-cold and steady. "You hit me because I refused to buy you a two-thousand-dollar bottle of champagne. You hit me because you thought my money belonged to you."
"You humiliated me!" she hissed, her face contorting.
"No," I replied softly. "You humiliated yourself. And as for your father's firm..." I turned my gaze to Richard Vance, whose eyes widened slightly as I picked up the thick manila folder from the table. "These are the bank records from my family trust. Three hundred and forty-two thousand dollars was siphoned out of my late husband’s account over the past eight months."
Brandon gasped, taking a stumbling step backward. "Mom... no..."
"Every single dollar," I continued, staring down Richard Vance, "was funneled directly into Vance Capital Management accounts to cover your bounced payroll checks and personal credit lines."
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Richard’s face drained of color until he was the shade of wet parchment. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"Arthur has the digital audit trails," I said. "The forged signatures. The IP addresses originating from your daughter’s laptop and my son’s phone. In less than one hour, this file can be on the desk of the Assistant United States Attorney."
