Chapter 7 - The Confrontation in the Corridor
While Megan and Sophie were undergoing initial blood work in the adjoining wing, Jonathan Vance’s black Maybach sat idling outside the clinic’s private entrance on Seventy-Second Street.
Jonathan didn't go inside. He sat in the back seat, reviewing a portfolio of quarterly earnings reports on his tablet, his face cast in the cold, unyielding light of the screen.
The car door on the driver's side opened, and Marcus slid into the front seat, shaking a light dusting of sleet off his shoulders.
"They’re inside with Dr. Harrison," Marcus reported, turning around to face Jonathan in the back. "Initial blood panels show her kidney function is down to fifteen percent. She needs a specialist coordinator immediately, but Harrison says she’s a viable candidate for the transplant registry once her protein levels stabilize."
Jonathan didn't look up from his tablet. "Send the best nephrologist in the country to oversee her case. I don't care what it costs to fly him in from Zurich."
"I already did," Marcus said dryly. Then his expression shifted into something more guarded. "There’s one other thing, Jonathan. Your uncle Arthur called my office five minutes ago."
Jonathan’s fingers paused over the screen. The name Arthur Vance was like an old scar that never quite stopped aching—the man who had run Vance Global into near-bankruptcy twenty years before Jonathan staged a hostile takeover of the board and stripped his uncle of all voting rights.
"What does Arthur want?" Jonathan asked, his voice dropping into ice.
"He heard about the medical endowment," Marcus said, leaning back against the leather headrest. "Word travels fast when corporate funds are redirected through private trust accounts. He’s calling an emergency meeting of the senior partners for tomorrow morning at nine. He’s going to motion for a formal audit of your philanthropic spending, claiming you’re using corporate assets for personal charity."
A cold, dangerous smile touched the corner of Jonathan’s mouth.
"Let him call the meeting," Jonathan said softly. "Arthur thinks a company is just a ledger of debts and credits. He’s forgotten that the only reason he still has a seat on the board is because I let him keep his dignity."
"He’s going to use the girl, Jonathan," Marcus warned, his voice grave. "He’s going to pull the tenant records, find out about the mother, and paint you as a liability to the firm’s public image. The press loves a story about a ruthless billionaire using corporate funds to play savior to a slum tenant."
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Jonathan turned off the tablet, the screen going black to reflect his own cold, resolute face.
"Let him try," Jonathan said. "A man who spends his life looking at ledgers never sees the floor beneath his feet. And that’s where people like Arthur always trip."
