Chapter 7 - VIVIAN'S LAST DESPERATION
Three weeks later.
The high-rise glass tower of Vance Global Logistics in downtown Manhattan hummed with quiet efficiency. From my new corner office on the forty-fifth floor, I had a clear view of the harbor where container ships bearing our silver logo glided smoothly through the deep water.
I was sitting at my glass desk, reviewing a corporate acquisition portfolio, when my executive assistant knocked gently on the door frame.
"Miss Vance," she said hesitantly. "There is a woman in the lobby. She doesn't have an appointment, but she refuses to leave until she sees you. Security was about to step in, but she... well, she looks quite unwell."
I looked up from my laptop. "Who is it?"
"She gave her name as Vivian."
I pulled my reading glasses off, setting them beside my coffee cup. "Send her up, Sarah. But keep two security officers outside my door."
Five minutes later, the heavy oak door opened.
The woman who walked into my office looked nothing like the icy matriarch who had commanded the Mercer Foundation gala three weeks ago.
Vivian Mercer was wearing an oversized coat that looked as though it had been purchased from a off-rack department store. Her once-impeccable hair was limp and grey at the roots, and deep, dark circles bruised the skin beneath her eyes. She carried no designer purse—only a worn leather envelope under her arm.
She stopped ten feet from my desk, staring at me as if looking at a stranger.
"Nora," she whispered, her voice dry and cracking.
"Mrs. Mercer," I replied, leaning back in my leather chair. "Take a seat."
She didn't sit. Instead, she stepped forward and placed the leather envelope on my desk. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably.
"What is this?" I asked, looking at the envelope.
"It's the deeds to our summer property in Martha's Vineyard," Vivian said, her voice dropping into a desperate, pleading tone. "It was the only asset left in my sister's name... they haven't seized it yet. It's worth two million dollars."
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I looked up at her, waiting.
"Take it," Vivian sobbed, dropping her hands onto the edge of my desk. "Take it, Nora. Just please... drop the criminal charges against Ethan. Tell the prosecutor you won't testify."
