Chapter 7
The French doors swung open with a smooth, silent glide.
Standing in the threshold was a man who seemed to absorb the bright light of the room. He was in his late sixties, impeccably dressed in a bespoke charcoal suit, a dark silk tie, and an overcoat resting over his broad shoulders. His silver hair was perfectly combed back, his fair skin weathered but radiating an intense, undeniable power. He was flanked by four massive men in dark suits, their hands resting deliberately near their waistbands.
Arthur Vance, Vesper’s grandfather and the undisputed patriarch of the Vance logistics empire, stepped into the dining room.
"Grandpa!" Nash cried out, running across the room and throwing his small arms around the old man's legs.
Arthur’s severe, stony expression broke for a fraction of a second. He knelt down, ignoring the debris on the floor, and scooped the four-year-old boy into his arms. He saw the grease stains on Nash’s clothes, the terror in the boy’s bright blue eyes, and the red flush of tears on his cheeks.
When Arthur stood back up, the temperature in the room plummeted to absolute zero.
"Derek," Arthur said. The single word was spoken at a normal volume, yet it carried the concussive weight of a physical blow.
Derek took a stumbling step backward, bumping into the dining table. "Arthur... sir. We... we weren't expecting you."
"I gather that," Arthur replied smoothly, his American accent cultured and terrifyingly calm. He looked down at Martha, who was still sprawled on the floor, covered in pasta and red sauce, desperately trying to sit up. "Martha. I see you are finally wearing the exact shade of garbage you truly are."
"Arthur! You cannot barge into my home!" Martha shrieked, though her voice lacked its usual venom, replaced entirely by fear. "This is private property!"
"This property was purchased using a bridge loan from the Vance Trust seven years ago, Martha," Arthur corrected, stepping further into the room. "A loan that contained a moral turpitude clause. A clause that allows me to seize the deed the moment my granddaughter is threatened."
"That's illegal!" Derek shouted, his chest heaving. "You can't just take our house! I’ll call the police!"
"Call them," Arthur invited, gesturing toward the phone on the wall. "Tell them to send the fraud division. Vesper, do you have the documents?"
Vesper stepped forward, handing the torn manila envelope and the forged transfer papers to her grandfather. "Right here. Forged signature, notarized yesterday."
Arthur glanced at the papers, a dark, humorless chuckle escaping his lips. "Sloppy, Derek. You didn't even get the slant of my son's signature right. Did you really think you could steal forty million dollars from my bloodline and I wouldn't find out?"
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"We didn't steal anything!" Derek pleaded, his hands shaking as he looked at the four bodyguards blocking the exits. "It was a business merger! We were protecting the assets!"
"You dumped boiling food onto my great-grandson," Arthur whispered, his eyes locking onto Derek with lethal intent. "And then you told his mother he would sleep on the street."
