Chapter 35 - The Unannounced Trial
The knock at the front door came before Mrs. Gable could finish her sentence.
Meline and I exchanged one look—the first genuine connection of shared instinct we had experienced in over a year. The bitterness, the grief, the mutual trauma of the past fourteen months vanished beneath the immediate, primal necessity of protecting our son.
"Upstairs," I said quietly. "Keep him calm. Let Mrs. Gable stay with him. You need to be down in the drawing room beside me within three minutes."
Meline didn't argue. She nodded once, turning back toward the nursery, her movements sharp and decisive.
I descended the grand staircase just as Mrs. Gable opened the massive oak front doors. A blast of sub-zero coastal wind swept into the foyer, bringing with it two figures wrapped in heavy wool coats.
The first was a woman in her late forties, wearing a tailored gray overcoat and carrying a thick leather folio—Diane Mercer, a senior regional supervisor for Child Protective Services whom I recognized from probate court directories. Behind her stood Detective Miller from the county sheriff's department.
"Mr. Vance," Mercer said without preamble, her breath steaming in the entryway. "I apologize for the late hour. We received a high-priority report via the state hotline at six-fifteen p.m. alleging that an infant under court-ordered joint custody is currently residing in an unsafe environment with an individual subject to active federal investigation."
"Sterling Vance does not reside here, Ms. Mercer," I replied, keeping my posture relaxed, hands in my pockets, projecting the effortless authority of a man entirely within his rights. "As you well know, my cousin was remanded to federal custody without bail at noon today."
"The report didn't name Sterling Vance, sir," Mercer replied, pulling a pair of reading glasses from her pocket and stepping onto the marble floor. "It alleged that Mrs. Vance has exhibited erratic behavior, that the child was brought to this residence under duress, and that there are unsecured firearms on the premises."
A cold rage flared in my chest. This wasn't a standard welfare check; this was a calculated strike by the remaining loyalists on the Vance corporate board, attempting to provoke a scene that would violate Judge Albright’s custody order.
"That allegation is an offensive falsehood," a clear, steady voice rang out from the landing above.
Meline was walking down the stairs. She had changed into a soft cashmere sweater, her hair brushed smooth, her posture immaculate. There was no trace of the tears that had stained her cheeks five minutes earlier. She looked every inch the mistress of Crescent Crest—calm, composed, and completely in control.
"Ms. Mercer," Meline said, offering a polite, firm hand as she reached the bottom step. "I am Meline Vance. If you wish to inspect my son’s nursery, you are welcome to do so, provided you remove your boots. He is currently sleeping."
Mercer blinked, clearly thrown off balance by Meline's poise. She glanced between the two of us, looking for the tension, the hostility, the signs of domestic fracture that the anonymous tip had promised.
"Mrs. Vance," Mercer said, softening slightly but remaining professional. "The complaint suggested you were being coerced into this living arrangement."
Meline stepped directly beside me. Without hesitation, she slipped her hand into the crook of my arm—a gesture so natural, so convincingly familiar, that my heart skipped a beat.
"My husband and I have endured an unspeakable tragedy orchestrated by corporate criminals," Meline said, looking Mercer directly in the eye. "We are here by order of Judge Albright, and more importantly, by our own shared commitment to raise our son in his family home. If someone called your hotline, they did so to destabilize our family for financial leverage. Nicholas, would you show Detective Miller the gun safe in the study so he can verify the state seals?"
"Of course," I said, resting my hand over hers where it lay on my forearm. The heat of her fingers through my sleeve was an anchor in the dark.
For twenty minutes, Mercer inspected the east wing nursery, checking the crib safety, the temperature logs, and the pantry stock, while Detective Miller verified the biometric locks on the private collection in the library.
When they finally returned to the foyer, Mercer closed her folio with a snap.
"The complaint is unfounded, Mr. Vance," she admitted, her tone formal. "However, given the high-profile nature of this case, I will be filing a supplemental report with Judge Albright tomorrow morning."
"We welcome it," Meline said smoothly.
As the heavy doors closed behind the investigators and the lock clicked into place, Meline immediately pulled her arm away from mine, stepping back across the marble floor.
"Good performance," she said, her voice dropping back to ice.
"It wasn't a performance to them," I replied, watching her carefully. "Who made that call, Meline?"
May you like
"Not who," she said, her eyes narrowing as she looked toward the basement stairs. "What. They’re looking for the original corporate ledgers, Nicholas. The ones your mother hid before she went into the hospital. And whoever made that phone call knows they’re still inside this house."
***
