Chapter 5 - The King’s Tower
The private elevator rose silently toward the top floor of the Vance Tower, a seventy-story glass-and-steel skyscraper overlooking the dark, rain-swept waters of Puget Sound.
When the gold doors slid open, my executive housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, was already standing in the foyer, her hands folded neatly over her apron. She had worked for my family for twenty years, and her face remained stoic until her eyes landed on the three identical little girls holding my hands.
Her mouth dropped open in shock. “Mr. Vance... sweet Jesus.”
“Mrs. Gable,” I said, stepping into the warm, carpeted foyer. “This is Ellie, Hannah, and Sophie. They’re staying here indefinitely. I need the guest suite prepared, fresh clothes ordered from Nordstrom immediately, and the private chef to prepare a meal fit for three princesses.”
Mrs. Gable’s stunned expression melted into immense warmth. “Right away, sir. Oh, you beautiful little darlings... come along with me. Let’s get you some warm milk and cocoa by the fireplace.”
Ellie looked up at me nervously, her small fingers tightening around my palm. “Are you coming too?”
I dropped to one knee in front of her, wiping a streak of dirt off her cheek with my thumb. “I have to handle some business, Ellie. But I’ll be right here in the building. Mrs. Gable is going to take care of you, and I’ll check on you every hour. I promise.”
Sophie held up Mr. Buttons. “Can Mr. Buttons have cocoa too?”
“Mr. Buttons can have whatever he wants,” I said gently, giving her a soft smile.
Once Mrs. Gable led them into the sprawling, light-filled living area toward the massive stone fireplace, I turned on my heel and walked into my private glass-walled study.
My chief operating officer and chief legal counsel, Arthur Vance—my uncle and closest confidant—was already waiting inside, standing near my mahogany desk with a whiskey glass in his hand.
“Julian,” Arthur said, his brow furrowed with concern as he gestured toward the foyer. “What in God’s name is happening? Karen said you canceled the harbor financing meeting, brought three children to the tower, and had Gabe lock down St. Catherine’s ICU floor.”
I walked behind my desk, grabbed a crystal decanter, and poured myself two fingers of rye. “Those three girls are Claire’s daughters, Arthur.”
Arthur nearly dropped his glass. “Claire? Claire Dawson? She disappeared five years ago, Julian!”
“She didn't disappear,” I said, my voice dropping into a deadly, ice-cold register. “She was forced into hiding. She was pregnant with my triplets when she left.”
Arthur stared at me, speechlessness taking over his face. He sank slowly into one of the heavy leather armchairs across from my desk. “Triplets... Good God, Julian. Three daughters?”
“And someone has spent the last six months slowly poisoning Claire with synthetic cardiac drugs,” I continued, leaning over the desk. “I just caught the operative in her apartment trying to dose the children’s vitamins.”
Arthur’s face went pale. “Who?”
“Victor Sterling.”
Arthur stood up instantly, his hands trembling. “Sterling? Julian, Sterling was banished to Oregon five years ago! If he’s back in Seattle operating through Crestview Holdings, he’s not acting alone. He doesn't have the capital or the muscle to launch a hit on your family without backing!”
“I know,” I said flatly. “Which means someone on my board—or someone in our harbor syndicate—sold him the information about where Claire was hiding.”
I pressed the intercom button on my desk. “Karen, get my head of security, Marcus, in here immediately.”
Five seconds later, Marcus stepped into the study, closing the double doors behind him. His face was grim, his suit coat slightly damp from the rain outside.
“Boss,” Marcus reported, stepping forward. “We took the operative to the dockhouse on Pier 54. He broke after five minutes with Gabe.”
“What did he say?” I demanded.
“He confirmed Crestview Holdings is the front,” Marcus said, pulling a folded slip of paper from his pocket. “Sterling has been operating out of an abandoned waterfront cannery near Commencement Bay in Tacoma. But the money transfers paying for the hit didn't come from Sterling’s accounts.”
“Where did they come from?” Arthur asked, leaning forward.
Marcus hesitated, looking at me with deep hesitation. “They were wired from a private shell company registered under the name Aegis Holdings. A shell company owned by your chief financial officer... Richard Hayes.”
A dark, dangerous silence descended over the room.
Richard Hayes. The man who had sat at my right hand for eight years. The man who managed my legal tax structures, managed my corporate accounts, and attended my family dinners.
He had been Sterling’s mole inside my empire all along. He was the one who had leaked Claire’s location five years ago, and he was the one funding her slow execution so I would never find out the truth.
“Where is Hayes right now?” I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm.
“He’s at the Seattle Club on 5th Avenue,” Marcus answered. “He has a private room booked for lunch with three offshore investors.”
I picked up my heavy glass, finished the rye in one swallow, and set the crystal down onto the desk with a sharp thud.
“Marcus, gather six men,” I commanded, pulling my leather gloves on. “We’re going to lunch.”
Arthur stepped into my path, his face filled with worry. “Julian, think about this! If you move openly against Hayes at the Seattle Club, it will trigger a war across the entire Northwest network! The board will panic, the police will investigate—”
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I looked Arthur straight in the eye, the cold fury inside me burning brighter than a furnace.
“Five years ago, I let Claire walk away because I thought I was protecting her by staying quiet,” I whispered, stepping around him. “Now I have three daughters sitting in my living room, and their mother is lying in a hospital bed fighting for her life. The time for quiet is over, Arthur. Today, everyone in this city remembers who I am.”
