Chapter 9 - The Corner Office
The thirty-second floor of the Vance & Sterling Legal Tower offered a panoramic view of the Boston harbor, gleaming under a thin layer of midday autumn sun. The reception area was all brushed steel, white marble, and minimalist furniture that looked more like an art gallery than a law firm.
The receptionist didn't even look up as we stepped out of the elevator. "Mr. Vance is in depositions. You’ll need to schedule an appointment with his assistant—"
"Tell Richard that Claire Prescott is here," I said, my voice cutting through the quiet lobby with absolute authority. "And tell him she brought her grandfather's original ledger."
The receptionist blinked, her fingers hovering over her keyboard as she looked up. Before she could pick up the desk phone, the heavy frosted-glass doors to the inner executive suite swung open.
Richard Vance Jr. stood in the doorway, his silver hair immaculate, his expression a mask of cool professional detachment. He didn't look surprised to see us. In fact, as he looked past Nathan and met my eyes, a faint, predatory smile touched the corners of his mouth.
"Mrs. Prescott," Vance said smoothly, stepping out into the lobby. "I must admit, I didn't expect you to grace our offices after yesterday's performance in Judge Harrison's courtroom. Did Aaron send you to negotiate a more generous alimony settlement?"
"Aaron isn't my concern anymore, Richard," I said, walking past him into his private office without waiting for an invitation.
Vance’s smile faltered just a fraction as I used his first name. He followed us inside, motioning for his associate—who had materialized from the hallway—to stay outside and close the glass door.
"Bold," Vance said, leaning against the edge of his massive mahogany desk and crossing his arms. "Trespassing in my office with your family's attorney won't change the fact that Prescott Global is heading into receivership by tomorrow afternoon. Your husband signed away his viability when he let us structure those subsidiary transfers."
"My husband didn't structure anything," I said, opening my leather portfolio and placing a single, yellowed document flat on his desk. "Your father did. Thirty years ago."
Vance glanced down at the paper. For the first time since I had met him, the color completely drained from his face. His arms uncrossed instantly, his hands gripping the edge of the wood so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"Where did you get this?" he asked, his voice dropping its smooth, practiced cadence.
"My grandfather’s private vault," I replied, stepping closer. "The 1994 settlement where your father admitted to embezzling two point four million dollars from Sterling Capital’s real estate portfolio. My grandfather didn't send him to prison because he felt charitable. He let him walk away on the condition that the Vance name never came within a mile of our holdings."
Vance stared at the paper as if it were burning through the mahogany. "That agreement was sealed. It was destroyed when the old partnership dissolved."
"Copies exist, Richard," Nathan chimed in smoothly from the doorway, holding up a secondary digital drive. "And mirrored copies were filed with the state banking commission as part of our emergency corporate audit this morning. The moment Judge Harrison sees the connection between your father’s old embezzlement record and the subsidiary transfers you engineered through Horizon Ventures, this firm won't just be disbarred. You'll be facing federal indictments for securities fraud."
Vance stood in absolute silence, the immaculate executive facade completely shredded. The room felt suddenly small, the air thick with the weight of decades of buried secrets coming home to roost.
"What do you want?" Vance whispered, his eyes fixed on the ledger.
"I don't want your firm," I said quietly. "And I don't want your money."
I leaned over the desk, my face inches from his, my voice as cold and unrelenting as the Atlantic wind outside my parents' house.
"I want your resignation from Prescott Global’s board of directors, effective immediately. And I want every single asset you and Jasmine Cole siphoned from those subsidiary accounts transferred back into the primary corporate ledger before the markets open tomorrow."
Vance looked up at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and pure, unadulterated fear. "And if I refuse?"
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"Then we don't wait for Judge Harrison tomorrow morning," I said, turning toward the door. "Nathan and I walk across the street to the U.S. Attorney’s office before lunch."
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