Chapter 9 - The Heir of Vance
I pulled my phone from my clutch bag and tapped the screen, turning it toward Adrien’s face.
On the screen was a live, high-definition video feed of a warm, sunlit living room in Maine.
A little three-year-old boy with dark hair and bright, intelligent eyes was sitting on a rug, building a wooden tower with his nanny, laughing happily.
Adrien’s breath hitched violently. He stared at the screen, his eyes widening in total, overwhelming shock.
"Is... is that...?" he choked out, his chest heaving.
"His name is Leo," I whispered, my voice thick with unyielding pride. "He was born three hours after you left me to burn. He has my heart, my father’s mind... and none of your cowardice."
Adrien reached out a trembling, handcuffed hand toward the screen, sobbing hysterically. "My son... my boy... please, Mara... let me see him... let me hold him once..."
"You chose Simone, Adrien," I said, pulling the phone back and stepping away as the federal agents lifted him to his feet. "You chose the vault. You chose the money. And in doing so, you gave up the right to ever hear him call you father."
The agents led Adrien Cole, Simone Vey, and Victor Hale out of the grand ballroom in chains, surrounded by the flashing cameras of a hundred press reporters who had captured every single second of the dramatic fall.
The Cole empire was dead.
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The Vance Trust was restored.
And as the crowd stood in silent awe, I turned my back on the white marble of Blackthorn Manor, walking out into the clean autumn air where my new life was waiting.
