Chapter 4 - The House of VanceThe name felt like a physical blow. Arthur Vance. My father’s older brother. The current patriarch of the Vance empire, a multi-billion-dollar shipping and real estate conglomerate that ruled the upper echelons of Manhattan society.
When my parents died in a car crash when I was nineteen, Arthur had stepped in as the executor of their estate. Within six months, he had used legal loopholes, forged documents, and corrupt judges to strip me of every single penny of my inheritance. He had cast me out onto the streets, branding me a troubled, unstable girl who couldn't be trusted with the family legacy. I had spent the last five years living in a cramped, vermin-infested apartment in Queens, working double shifts at Il Verano just to afford bread and rent, while my uncle lived in a sprawling penthouse overlooking Central Park.
“Arthur,” I whispered, the puzzle pieces slamming together in my mind with terrifying precision. “When I found out I was pregnant... I went to him. I begged him for help. I didn't have money for prenatal care, and the father... the father had abandoned me the moment he saw the positive test. Arthur told me he would pay for me to go to a private facility in Switzerland. He said it was for the family’s privacy. He said he wanted to make things right.”
I let out a harsh, broken laugh as the realization washed over me. “He didn't want to help me. He wanted me out of the country. He wanted the baby.”
“Why would your uncle care about your child?” Ricardo asked, his eyes narrowing as he watched my expression.
“Because of my grandfather’s will,” I said, the memory surfacing from the deep recesses of my mind. “Grandfather left thirty percent of the company’s core shares in a blind trust. The clause stated that the shares would bypass Arthur and go directly to my firstborn child the moment they were born, as a way to ensure my branch of the family was always protected. If the baby died... or if there was no record of her existence... the shares reverted completely to Arthur.”
Ricardo looked at Julian, who was already pulling up the financial registries of the Vance Corporation.
“She’s right, boss,” Julian reported, his eyes tracking lines of corporate data. “Two years ago, October 16th—exactly two days after Leah’s alleged death in Zurich—Arthur Vance filed a motion to absorb the blind trust shares into his personal portfolio. It increased his voting power to fifty-five percent, giving him absolute control over the entire shipping empire.”
“He sold my daughter for a corporate monopoly,” I said, my voice turning cold, the sorrow in my chest suddenly hardening into a fiery, volatile rage. I looked down at Leah, who was now fast asleep, her small face peaceful against my shoulder. “He stole my life. He let me believe my baby was rotting in a grave while he used her inheritance to buy yachts and politicians.”
Ricardo stared at me for a long moment. The anger in his eyes had mutated into something much deeper, something calculated and deadly. He reached out and gently laid his palm against the back of Leah’s head, his fingers stroking her dark curls.
“Nobody steals from a Moretti,” Ricardo said, his voice dropping back into that terrifyingly quiet register. “And nobody uses a child as a piece of corporate meat. Arthur Vance didn't just cross you, Clara. He made a fool of me. He sold me stolen property and painted my family with the blood of a mother’s grief.”
He looked up at his head bodyguard. “Marco. Take Clara and Leah to the compound. Use the armored convoy. No one leaves their side. If so much as a hair on either of their heads is harmed, I’ll have your skin.”
“Yes, boss,” Marco said, stepping forward.
“Wait,” I said, stepping back from the guard. “Where are you going, Ricardo?”
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Ricardo adjusted the lapels of his charcoal suit, his expression completely blank, the face of a man who was about to go to work.
“I’m going to have a conversation with your uncle,” Ricardo said. “And by morning, the House of Vance will belong to my daughter.”
