Chapter 4 - The Serpent's Strike
By four o'clock that afternoon, the quiet peace of the Lake Forest estate was broken by the sound of screeching tires on the gravel driveway.
I stood by the window of my study, watching a fleet of three black Mercedes sedans pull up to the main entrance. Out stepped Silas Vance—Dominic’s father, my late wife’s uncle, and the patriarch of the Vance family branch. He was accompanied by four corporate lawyers in dark three-piece suits and two private security guards.
Silas didn't knock. He used his master corporate key to unlock the front entrance, his heavy footsteps echoing through the marble hallway.
"Arthur!" Silas’s voice boomed through the house, thick with arrogance and ancestral pride. "Arthur, get down here right now!"
I didn't rush. I finished my cup of black coffee, adjusted my cuffs, and walked slowly down the grand curved staircase.
Silas stood in the center of the foyer, his silver hair swept back, his tailored overcoat draped over his shoulders like a cape. His face was flushed with fury, his eyes bulging as he glared up at me.
"You had my son thrown off corporate property by security guards?" Silas barked, stepping toward the stairs. "Have you completely lost your mind, Arthur? Dominic is family! He’s Clara’s blood!"
"Clara’s blood was stealing from the housekeepers, Silas," I said, stopping on the third step from the bottom, looking down at him. "He ran a four-million-dollar embezzling scheme through Blackwell Domestic Services."
"It wasn't embezzlement!" Silas roared, waving his hands violently. "It was financial optimization! We used those subsidiary margins to secure the Riverfront land deals! Deals that you signed off on!"
"I signed off on land deals, Silas," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "I did not sign off on paying June Carter eighteen hundred dollars a month while logging forty-eight hundred on our tax returns and pocketing the difference."
One of Silas’s lawyers stepped forward, holding a leather briefcase. "Mr. Blackwell, if I may. The operational structures of Blackwell Domestic Services fall under the direct jurisdiction of the subsidiary board, of which Silas Vance is the majority shareholder. Your unilateral dismissal of Dominic Vance without a board vote constitutes a breach of the corporate charter—"
"Shut your mouth," I said to the lawyer, not even looking at him.
The lawyer froze, startled by the sheer venom in my voice.
Silas took another step forward, his voice dropping into a low, vicious threaten. "Listen to me, Arthur. You think you're untouchable because your name is on the building? You haven't run this company in two years. You've been a ghost! We have the board votes. We have the banking relationships. If you pursue legal action against Dominic, we will trigger the emergency buyout clause in the parent charter."
"The buyout clause?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes!" Silas sneered. "If the CEO is deemed mentally unfit or incapable of performing executive duties, the secondary board can force a compulsory purchase of your voting shares! And after two years of you locked in this house mourning a dead woman, we have six psychiatrists ready to sign the affidavits!"
A heavy silence fell over the foyer.
Silas smiled—a cruel, triumphant smile that revealed the true nature of the man who had sat at my dinner table every Christmas for a decade.
"You're going to drop the audit, Arthur," Silas said smoothly, adjusting his lapels. "You're going to reinstate Dominic as president of the service division. And you're going to hand over the original ledgers you took from his office. Do that, and we let you keep this big house to drown in your grief."
Before I could answer, a small voice echoed from the top of the stairs.
"Mr. Blackwell?"
I turned. June was standing at the top of the grand staircase, holding a silver tray with a pitcher of water and clean glasses. She looked terrified, her eyes darting between Silas, the armed security guards, and me.
Silas looked up, his eyes narrowing as he recognized her.
"You," Silas hissed, his face twisting into pure disgust. "The illegal maid. You're the one who started this nonsense?"
He turned to his private security guards. "Grab her. Take her phone and check if she has any corporate documents on her."
The two guards moved toward the stairs.
"Touch her," I said softly, "and neither of you will walk out of this house."
Marcus and three of my personal security officers stepped out from the side hallways, their hands resting comfortably under their jackets. The two Vance guards froze instantly, taking a step back as they recognized the cold, professional discipline of Marcus’s team.
Silas glared at me, his rage bubbling over. "Protecting a servant over your own family, Arthur? Is this what you've reduced the Blackwell name to?"
"She isn't a servant, Silas," I said, stepping down to the limestone floor and walking right up to him until my chest almost touched his. "She’s an employee of Blackwell Enterprises. And unlike you, she actually earns her bread."
I pulled my phone out and tapped the screen once.
"What are you doing?" Silas demanded.
"I just instructed my legal team to file an emergency injunction in federal court freezing all corporate accounts associated with Vance Holdings," I said. "And at five o'clock today, the Chicago Police Department will receive a full copy of the payroll fraud logs, complete with Dominic’s signature on every diverted cash transfer."
May you like
Silas’s face went dead white. "You wouldn't... the scandal will destroy the Riverfront development! You'll lose fifty million dollars!"
"I don't care about the fifty million, Silas," I said, leaning in close so only he could hear my words. "I have five billion dollars. I can afford to burn the Riverfront project to the ground just to watch you and your son stand in the ash."
