Chapter 24 - The Will on the Table
Scott let out a high-pitched shriek of agony as his knee buckled beneath him.
The crowbar clattered harmlessly against the mahogany desk, bouncing off the polished wood and landing heavily on the thick carpet. Scott crashed to the floor, clutching his shattered joint, rolling onto his side as he sobbed in the dark.
"I may be seventy-two," Margaret Vance remarked, leaning back onto her cane, breathing slightly harder but completely composed, "but my orthopedic surgeon in Zurich was world-class."
Brandon immediately kicked the crowbar across the room, out into the dark hallway, then knelt down on Scott’s back, driving his knee firmly into Scott’s shoulder blade and pinning him to the floor. Scott groaned, his face pressed against the rug, tears and saliva pooling under his cheek.
"Don't move," Brandon commanded coldly.
Just then, the emergency siren choked, sputtered, and died. The harsh red strobes vanished, replaced by the humming return of the building's auxiliary power. Fluorescent lights flickered on overhead, flooding the executive suite with bright, sterile, unforgiving white light.
The sudden brightness exposed everything: Scott’s ruined suit, his bloodied knee, the tears running through the dirt on his face, and the terrified, cornered expression in his eyes.
Heavy footsteps echoed from the stairwell. Four men in dark tactical windbreakers with "STATE POLICE" stenciled in yellow across the back entered the room, weapons unholstered, led by a tall, sharp-featured man with silver-streaked hair wearing a dark trench coat.
Arthur Miller.
"Margaret," the attorney said, stopping at the door and surveying the scene before gesturing for the troopers to stand down. "I see you didn't need the escort after all."
"You took too long with the warrant, Arthur," Margaret replied dryly, gesturing toward the floor. "Cuff this pathetic creature before he bleeds on the Persian silk."
Two troopers moved forward swiftly, pulling Scott’s arms behind his back and snapping steel handcuffs around his wrists. Scott screamed as they jostled his broken leg, cursing every person in the room with hysterical, slurred profanity.
"You have no case!" Scott wheezed, his face bright red as the officers hauled him upright and forced him into a leather armchair. "The trust documents are registered in Delaware! Elena signed the release! Lauren signed the post-nuptial agreement!"
Arthur Miller stepped forward, opening a thick leather briefcase and laying a pristine, heavy parchment document directly on top of the desk.
"Lauren signed a post-nuptial agreement under medical duress, without independent counsel, less than forty-eight hours after an emergency Cesarean section," Miller stated with clinical precision. "Judge Holbrook threw it out thirty minutes ago in an emergency ex parte hearing."
Miller turned a page.
"As for Margaret's estate," the lawyer continued, looking directly at Scott, "you were operating under a fraudulent power of attorney generated by a disbarred notary in Newark. But more importantly, Scott... you never read the original 1998 Vance Family Revocable Trust in its entirety."
Scott blinked through his sweat, his breathing ragged. "What are you talking about? I read every page."
"You read the summary provided by your crooked estate planner," Margaret Vance said, walking up to the chair where Scott sat restrained. She reached out with the tip of her cane and nudged his chin upward so he had to look at her. "My husband didn't leave this company to me, Scott. And he certainly didn't leave it to Elena to hand over to whatever opportunist managed to charm her during her grieving period."
Miller tapped the parchment with his gold pen. "Under Clause 14 of the original Vance charter, should the primary heir attempt to transfer controlling interest to a non-lineal spouse under fraudulent circumstances, the entire corporate trust dissolves and immediately transfers to the next surviving lineal descendants—or, in the absence of direct grandchildren from Elena, to the legal guardian of any minor children born under the Vance financial umbrella."
Scott’s eyes darted frantically across the room, finally landing on me. A look of sheer, paralyzing horror washed over his features.
"No," Scott choked out. "No... that's impossible."
"You used the Vance Family Trust collateral to secure the private hospital wing for Lauren’s delivery," Miller said, a faint, razor-sharp smile touching his lips. "You categorized Lauren’s pregnancy as a 'Family Corporate Medical Obligation' to avoid paying federal taxes on the medical bills. By doing so, you legally bound the triplets into the Vance corporate covenant."
Miller picked up the document and turned to me.
May you like
"Lauren," he said gently. "As the sole legal guardian of three minor beneficiaries under the reactivated 1998 charter, you now hold fifty-one percent of the voting shares of Apex Ventures."
***
