Chapter 3 - The True Power of the Vances
High above downtown San Diego, inside the top-floor penthouse suite of the Vanguard Tower, Fiona sat in a plush armchair, watching her mother sip tea.
Bernadette had changed into a soft cashmere sweater, completely relaxed, enjoying the quiet classical music playing through the room's concealed speakers. She didn't look like a victim. She looked like a woman who had seen through the pretenses of small-minded people long ago.
"You're very quiet, sweetheart," Bernadette said gently, turning her dark glasses toward Fiona.
"I'm just furious at myself," Fiona admitted, staring at her bare left hand where the ring used to sit. "I was so blind, Mom. I thought Christian was different. I thought he was kind. But when his mother humiliated you, he sat there and told me not to make a scene."
"When people show you who they are under pressure, believe them," Bernadette replied softly. "You didn't lose a husband today, Fiona. You escaped a lifetime of misery."
The office door opened, and Walter walked in, setting his leather briefcase on his broad mahogany desk. He had discarded his jacket and unbuttoned his collar, looking every bit the ruthless captain of industry that the business world revered and feared.
"How are we looking, Dad?" Fiona asked.
Walter picked up his tablet. "Pembroke Construction's stock is down forty percent in after-hours trading. Their sub-contractors have abandoned three major job sites. Douglas Pembroke has left twelve voice messages on my private line, and Christian has tried to call your personal cell twenty-four times."
"What are you going to do?" Fiona asked.
"I'm going to let them stew in their own arrogance," Walter said coldly. "They thought they were high society because they build commercial plazas. They thought they could treat your mother like second-class trash because she lost her sight. I'm going to teach them what real authority looks like."
"Walter," Bernadette said gently, raising a hand. "Don't destroy them just for my sake. Anger is a poor investment."
"It's not just anger, my love," Walter said, walking over to squeeze his wife's hand tenderly. "I had my intelligence team run a complete forensic audit on Pembroke Construction over the last two hours. It turns out Margaret and Douglas have been operating a massive tax evasion scheme through off-shore accounts in Grand Cayman, using company funds to purchase luxury yachts and mansions while skimping on safety protocols for their site workers. They aren't just rude, Bernadette. They're corrupt."
Fiona’s eyes widened. "Christian knew about that?"
"Christian was signed on as a junior vice president on three of those shell companies," Walter revealed. "He signed off on fraudulent expense reports last month. If the IRS gets a peek at these ledgers, none of the Pembrokes will be attending charity galas for a very long time."
Just then, the interoffice phone chimed. Walter pressed the speaker button.
May you like
"Mr. Vance," his executive secretary announced. "Douglas Pembroke and his son Christian are downstairs in the lobby. They don't have an appointment, but Mr. Pembroke claims it's a matter of life and death. Security wants to know if they should escort them off the premises."
Walter looked at Fiona and Bernadette. "Tell security to bring them up," Walter instructed calmly. "It's time for our dinner conversation to continue."
