Chapter 3 - The Unraveling Envelope
Marcus Vance stopped three feet from where Matthias and Serena stood. He didn't smile. Men in his line of work rarely smiled at upscale holiday parties, especially when they were holding a thick, manila leather-bound portfolio under one arm.
“Serena,” Marcus said, nodding respectfully to her first. “Flight was a bit bumpy over Lake Michigan, but I made it.”
“Thank you for coming, Marcus,” Serena replied, her voice steady. “I know it’s short notice, especially on Christmas.”
“Family emergencies tend to override holiday schedules,” Marcus replied, his deep voice carrying just enough to draw the curious sideways glances of several nearby attorneys.
Matthias stepped forward, positioning his body defensively between Marcus and his wife, a mask of forced corporate hospitality slamming back over his features.
“Marcus Vance,” Matthias said, extending a hand that was barely steady. “I didn't realize Dre Enterprises had retained your firm. Must have slipped my mind during the merger filings.”
Marcus looked down at Matthias’s outstretched hand, made no move to shake it, and instead shifted the portfolio to his left hand.
“Your firm didn't retain me, Dre,” Marcus said evenly. “Your wife did. Three days ago, after she discovered the offshore accounts you set up in the Cayman Islands under Fiona Vale’s maiden name.”
The music from the string quartet seemed to falter for a split second. Several guests nearby suddenly found the intricate patterns on the ceiling fascinating, though their ears were straining to catch every word.
Fiona, realizing she had been named, abandoned her spot by the door and hurried over, her heels clicking sharply against the marble.
“Matthias, what is this?” Fiona demanded, her voice tight with rising panic. “Who is this man?”
“Shut up, Fiona,” Matthias snapped, his veneer of cool control finally shattering into jagged pieces. He turned back to Marcus, his face flushing a dark, mottled red. “This is private property. You have no legal right to bring corporate disputes into a private family residence. Security will escort you out right now.”
“Security?” Marcus raised an eyebrow, a faint, humorless smirk touching his lips. “Dre, look behind you.”
Matthias slowly turned his head. Standing near the grand staircase, watching the unfolding scene with a face carved from stone, was Arthur Dre—Matthias’s father, the founder and chairman of the board of Dre Enterprises. Beside him stood Eleanor Dre, Matthias’s mother, her hands frozen over her pearl necklace.
They had heard everything.
“Father,” Matthias stammered, taking a step backward. “This... this is a misunderstanding. A corporate smear campaign by a disgruntled—”
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“Shut your mouth, Matthias,” Arthur Dre commanded. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried the absolute, unyielding authority of a man who had built an empire through iron discipline. The old man walked slowly across the floor, his cane tapping rhythmically against the stone. He stopped in front of Marcus Vance and looked down at the manila folder.
“Mr. Vance,” Arthur said, his eyes hard. “What do you have in that file?”
