Chapter 7 - The Settlement Offer
Harrison Vance looked like a man who hadn't slept in forty-eight hours, mostly because he hadn't.
The senior partner of Vance, Sterling & Croft—a defense firm that charged twelve hundred dollars an hour to protect Manhattan’s most corrupt elites—stepped into the library with his briefcase clutched against his ribs like a shield. His silver hair was disheveled, and his silk tie was tied crookedly.
He stopped two paces into the room, his eyes darting between Julian, who remained seated with his legs crossed, and me.
“Miss Vance,” the lawyer began, clearing his throat nervously. “I... on behalf of my client, Mr. Vale, I wish to extend the deepest apologies for the unfortunate events of last evening. Tensions were running extraordinarily high, and alcohol undoubtedly played a regrettable role in—”
“Sit down, Mr. Vance,” I said quietly, gesturing to the leather chair across from me.
The lawyer hesitated, then lowered himself into the seat. He clicked open his leather briefcase and pulled out a thick stack of legal documents.
“Adrian is prepared to make this right,” the lawyer said, leaning forward. “He recognizes that the marriage has suffered an irreparable breakdown. He is willing to sign an immediate, uncontested decree of divorce.”
“How generous,” Julian remarked dryly, not looking up from his coffee.
Harrison swallowed hard. “Furthermore, Mr. Vale is willing to surrender all claims to the joint real estate portfolio, including the Hamptons property, provided that... certain accommodations are made.”
“What accommodations?” I asked.
Harrison slid a single sheet of paper across the marble table toward me.
“You withdraw the criminal assault complaint filed with the NYPD. You issue a joint public statement stating that the altercation was a private domestic misunderstanding that was blown out of proportion by media sensationalism. And... Judge Marcus Vance must submit a formal letter to the Southern District recommending that Mr. Vale be granted pretrial release on signature bond.”
I looked at the document. It was a standard non-disclosure agreement wrapped in legal jargon, designed to scrub Adrian’s public record clean and leave him free to flee to a non-extradition country.
“Is Adrian truly that delusional?” I asked, looking up from the paper into Harrison’s eyes. “Does he honestly believe he holds any leverage in this room?”
“Miss Vance, if this goes to trial, the public fallout will be catastrophic for both sides,” Harrison argued, his voice rising in desperation. “The Vale Foundation will be dissolved. Hundreds of legitimate charity programs will lose their funding overnight. The tabloids will dissect your eight-year marriage down to the bone. You will spend the next three years of your life sitting in deposition rooms.”
“The Vale Foundation has already been dissolved,” Julian interjected calmly.
Harrison blinked. “What?”
Julian turned his tablet toward the lawyer. “At eight o'clock this morning, Vance Capital acquired all underlying debt held by the Vale Foundation’s commercial partners. We have restructured the entire entity into the *Arthur Vance Memorial Trust*. Every legitimate shelter, every food bank, and every support clinic formerly funded by Adrian will receive triple their previous annual budget, funded directly from my family’s private accounts.”
Harrison stared at the screen, the legal defense he had spent all night drafting collapsing before his eyes.
“And as for Adrian’s freedom,” I said, picking up the settlement document.
I held the paper between two fingers, brought it over the antique bronze wastebasket beside my chair, and tore it cleanly in half. Then I tore it again.
The pieces fluttered into the basket.
“Tell your client that my brother Caleb is currently processing forty-eight separate counts of felony embezzlement, each carrying a consecutive sentence of two to four years,” I said, meeting the attorney’s terrified gaze. “Tell him Marcus has recused himself, which means the case will fall to Judge Eleanor Thornton—who, as you well know, has zero tolerance for domestic abusers.”
Harrison stood up abruptly, his hands trembling as he shoved his empty files back into his briefcase.
“You’re going to destroy him,” Harrison whispered.
May you like
“No, Harrison,” I replied, standing to walk him to the door. “Adrian destroyed himself. I am simply ensuring that the debris doesn't hurt anyone else.”
***
