Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Vance Manor
By the third morning, the specialized burn treatment had stabilized my vital signs and reduced the swelling across my shoulders.
I sat upright in my private hospital bed, wearing a dark silk robe over the fresh sterile bandages.
Chloe walked in, carrying a cup of hot black coffee and an encrypted laptop with a government seal.
“Your forensic accounting team finished decrypting Julian’s primary Cayman server,” Chloe said, pulling up a chair beside me.
“What did they find regarding my father’s manufacturing plants?” I asked, my voice steady and cold as steel.
Chloe clicked a folder labeled Operation Blackout, revealing a series of confidential autopsy reports from seven years ago.
My breath hitched in my throat as I read the toxicological findings of my late father, Thomas Vance.
Official records had stated that Thomas died of sudden cardiac arrest while dining at the Sterling country club.
However, the unredacted blood analysis on the screen showed lethal concentrations of digitalis toxin.
Attached to the toxicology report was a digital receipt for thirty grams of digitalis purchased by Beatrice Sterling’s private gardener.
“Beatrice didn't just push you into marriage with Julian to save their failing shipping enterprise,” Chloe murmured with deep sorrow.
“She murdered your father to prevent him from discovering that the Sterlings had embezzled eighty million dollars from the pension fund.”
My hands gripped the hospital bedsheets until my knuckles turned as white as porcelain.
For seven years, I had blamed myself for not being present during my father’s final dinner.
For seven years, I had allowed Beatrice to play the grieving, supportive family friend who took me under her wing.
She had welcomed me into her home, smiled at my wedding, and cooked dinners while hiding the poison on her hands.
“Is Marcus Vance ready to file the amended indictment?” I asked, looking up at Chloe with eyes burning with retribution.
“He’s already drafting the paperwork for capital murder,” Chloe confirmed, a grim smile touching her lips.
“Julian’s corporate board of directors has called an emergency session for noon today to vote on his removal.”
I pulled the IV needle from the back of my hand, ignoring the brief sting of the catheter.
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“Get my tailored navy suit from my apartment, Chloe,” I commanded, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.
“I am attending that board meeting in person.”
