Chapter 8 - The Hidden Past
I picked up the envelope and got into my car.
My hands were shaking as I tore open the seal. Inside were several printed pages of private detective reports, court filings from Northern California dated 2021, and news clippings from a San Francisco real estate journal.
I began reading.
In 2021, two years before I met Savannah, she had been engaged to a man named Gregory Vance—the son of Donald Vance, the very attorney currently representing my mother.
Gregory Vance was a high-profile real estate developer in San Francisco. According to the court records, Gregory had been severely abusive—both emotionally and financially. He had stolen nearly two million dollars from Savannah’s pre-marital savings accounts while controlling her every move using non-disclosure agreements and physical threats.
When Savannah finally gathered the courage to escape, she had filed a massive civil fraud lawsuit against Gregory Vance, bankrupting his development firm and sending his younger brother to prison for financial fraud.
Donald Vance—the father—had sworn revenge against Savannah ever since.
My jaw dropped as the final piece of the terrifying puzzle clicked into place.
My mother hadn't just randomly decided to abuse Savannah.
When my mother moved into our apartment three years ago, she had been approached online by Donald Vance. Donald had fed my mother information, encouraging her hatred, coaching her on how to break Savannah’s spirit, and providing her with legal advice on how to avoid leaving physical evidence that would stand up in court.
My mother was the weapon; Donald Vance was the architect.
They were trying to force Savannah into a mental breakdown so she would drop her ongoing enforcement actions against Gregory Vance’s hidden offshore assets.
I started my car and drove home at sixty miles an hour, my mind racing.
When I burst through the front door of our apartment, Savannah was sitting at the kitchen island, drinking water. She looked up, startled by my sudden entrance.
I laid the documents from the envelope onto the counter in front of her.
"Donald Vance," I said, breathing heavily. "Gregory Vance's father."
Savannah looked at the papers, and all the color instantly drained from her face. She dropped her water glass, spilling it across the counter.
"Where... where did you get this?" she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.
"Bernice gave it to me right before the police arrested her in my parking garage," I said, stepping closer and taking her shaking hands into mine. "Savannah... Donald Vance set your mother-in-law against you. He used her jealousy to torture you for three years."
Savannah covered her face and wept—deep, gut-wrenching sobs that came from the absolute darkest corner of her soul.
"I tried to run away from them, Christopher," she cried out. "I moved to San Diego, I changed my life, I met you... I thought I was safe. But when your mother started hitting me, she whispered things that Gregory used to say to me. She used the exact same words. I thought I was going crazy... I thought I was cursed."
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I wrapped my arms around her, holding her so tightly I could feel the rhythmic beat of our baby’s heart against my chest.
"You're not cursed, Savannah," I promised her, my voice dark with pure, focused fury. "And they are never going to touch you again. Now we don't just defend ourselves. Now we destroy them."
