Chapter 4 - The Secret of the Trust Fund
The sun rose slowly over the snow-covered estate, casting a pale, sickly yellow light across the shattered glass of the guest suite window. A forensic team from the local police department wouldn't arrive for another hour, but John had already locked down the perimeter, ensuring no one disturbed the scene.
In the warm, wood-paneled library downstairs, a roaring fire crackled in the hearth, trying in vain to thaw the deep chill that had settled into the room.
Olivia and Ava sat huddled together on the oversized leather sofa, wrapped in heavy wool blankets. A steaming cup of hot tea sat untouched between them on the coffee table. John stood by the window, staring out at the frozen footprints in the snow that vanished into the dark woods.
He turned around, his expression solemn, his patience wearing thin against the veil of secrecy.
"Alright," John said, his voice firm yet gentle. "The police are on their way. But before they get here, you need to tell me everything. Who was at that window last night? Why did he take Emma? And what did you mean about thirty years ago?"
Olivia took a slow, shaky breath. She looked down at her hands, tracing the scarred knuckles with her thumb, before finally lifting her gaze to meet John’s.
"We lied to you," Olivia confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "We aren't just random homeless girls from the square. We were running. We've been running for six months."
"I figured that out when someone smashed my window and dragged Emma into the snow," John replied dryly, walking over to sit in the armchair opposite them. "Start from the beginning. Who are you?"
"Our names are Emma, Olivia, and Ava Vance," Olivia said, her voice steadying. "Does the last name sound familiar, Mr. Matthews? Does it ring any bells in elite business circles?"
John frowned, searching his memory. The name Vance echoed in the back of his mind like a distant alarm bell. Marcus Vance—the ruthless shipping tycoon who had mysteriously vanished from the public eye years ago, leaving behind a massive, scandal-ridden corporate empire.
"Marcus Vance," John muttered, his eyes widening. "The shipping magnate. He was investigated for embezzlement and corporate fraud back in the nineties before..." He trailed off, doing the math in his head.
"Before he walked away scot-free," Olivia finished bitterly. "Our father was Marcus’s younger brother, Julian Vance. He was the honest one. He managed the philanthropic wing of the family fortune, while Marcus ran the shipping lines like a criminal syndicate."
"What does that have to do with you three?" John asked, leaning forward.
"Everything," Ava spoke up for the first time, her voice raspy and weak. "We are the sole heirs to the Vance family trust. When our parents died in a 'tragic' car accident ten years ago, Uncle Marcus became our legal guardian. He promised to take care of us. Instead... he locked us in that sprawling estate on the coast, controlled every second of our lives, and treated us like prisoners."
"Why?" John asked, confusion clouding his mind. "If you're his nieces, why would he imprison you?"
"Because of the trust," Olivia explained, anger flashing in her dark eyes. "When we turn twenty-one—which happens next month—the entire multi-million-dollar trust fund unlocks automatically, split equally among the three of us. Marcus has been embezzling money from that fund for a decade to prop up his failing shipping empire. If we turn twenty-one, the forensic audits will expose every single crime he committed. He'll go to prison for the rest of his life."
John felt the room spin slightly. The pieces of the puzzle were violently snapping together. "So... he kept you locked up to stop you from claiming your inheritance?"
"Worse," Olivia whispered, a tear finally spilling over her lashes. "A month ago, we found out what happened to our parents' car accident. It wasn't an accident, Mr. John. Marcus cut the brake lines. He murdered them. And when we found the documents in his safe... we knew he was planning to do the exact same thing to us the moment we turned twenty-one."
Ava began to sob quietly into her blanket. "That's why we ran. We broke out in the middle of the night, hitchhiked across state lines, threw away our phones, and lived on the streets. We thought we were safe. We thought we had disappeared."
John stood up, pacing across the Persian rug. The gravity of the situation slammed into him like a physical blow. This wasn't just a bitter family feud. This was a calculated, cold-blooded manhunt led by a desperate, powerful man who had already committed murder once and had nothing left to lose.
And right now, Marcus Vance had Emma.
"Where would he take her?" John demanded, stopping in front of them. "Where does he have a safe house around here?"
Olivia shook her head frantically. "I don't know! He has properties everywhere—abandoned warehouses, hunting cabins in the mountains, private docks..."
Suddenly, the front doorbell chimed.
It wasn't a polite ding. It was a long, aggressive, rhythmic ringing that echoed through the empty halls of the mansion.
John drew his revolver from his waistband, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked at Olivia and Ava, whose faces had turned the color of ash.
"Stay here," John ordered, his voice commanding. "Do not make a sound. If I don't come back in ten minutes, you go out through the basement tunnel and run."
With measured, silent steps, John walked out of the library, down the long corridor toward the massive double doors of the front entrance. He reached out, his hand steadying the gun, and pulled the heavy door open.
Standing on the porch, framed by falling snow and flanked by two burly men in heavy black tactical gear, was a tall, silver-haired man in a tailored charcoal overcoat.
Marcus Vance.
May you like
He smiled—a cold, calculated, dead-eyed smirk that didn't reach his eyes.
"Good morning, Mr. Matthews," Marcus said smoothly, stepping across the threshold uninvited. "I believe you have something of mine."
