A fierce, burning fire ignited in my chest.
Arthur hadn’t won. He had just trapped himself.
CHAPTER 4
The sun broke over the Los Angeles skyline in a blaze of harsh orange light, cutting through the floor-to-ceiling glass of the boardroom. It was 8:55 A.M.
Arthur Vance sat at the head of the mahogany table, exuding an aura of untouchable confidence. He had changed into a fresh, navy-blue custom suit. Marcus stood by the door, an immovable mountain of silent intimidation. The twelve board members were already seated, murmuring quietly amongst themselves, their expressions drawn and serious.
Richard Vance sat beside Arthur in his wheelchair, looking paler than the day before. The heart monitor attached to his wrist beeped with a slow, weary rhythm. He kept glancing toward the closed oak doors, waiting for a daughter he believed was too frightened to fight.
“It is nine o’clock,” Arthur announced, checking his diamond-encrusted watch. His voice was smooth, resonating with inevitable victory. He looked at his father with a practiced look of synthetic sympathy. “I am sorry, Father. I truly am. But as I warned you yesterday, she was a con artist. She failed to appear because she knows she cannot substantiate her extortion attempts. It’s over.”
Richard lowered his head, a look of profound defeat settling over his features. He rested his frail hands on his cane, unable to argue.
“In light of her absence, and the attempt to defraud the Vance estate,” Arthur continued, turning his charismatic gaze on the board, “I motion that we proceed with the immediate transfer of the CEO title and the remaining fifty-one percent controlling shares to myself, securing the stability of Vance Tech.”
Several board members nodded in agreement. The chairman raised his hand to call the official vote.
“I second the motion,” a director said.
“Wait.”
The heavy oak doors pushed open.
I stepped into the boardroom.
The silence that fell over the room was absolute. I was wearing the same tailored black suit, but I was no longer shaking. My posture was straight, my chin held high. Beside me walked Thomas Sterling, carrying a slim silver laptop.
Arthur’s smug expression shattered. He surged halfway out of his chair, his hands gripping the edge of the mahogany table so hard his knuckles turned white.
“What are you doing here?” Arthur hissed, abandoning his composed facade. He shot a frantic, lethal glare at Marcus by the door. Marcus shifted his weight, looking equally confused. They had broken my spirit in the garage. They had destroyed the evidence. They expected me to run.
“I was summoned to an inheritance meeting,” I said evenly, walking slowly down the length of the table. “I don't make a habit of missing appointments.”
“Get her out of here!” Arthur barked to Marcus. “She is a trespasser and an extortionist! Call estate security!”
“Stay exactly where you are, Marcus,” Richard’s voice rang out. It was weak, but it carried the unquestionable authority of the man who had built this empire from the ground up. He looked at me, a desperate hope reigniting in his eyes. “Sarah. Do you have what I asked for?”
“Yes, Father,” I said, the word feeling strange but powerful on my tongue.
I gestured to Sterling. The older lawyer stepped up to the massive digital presentation screen dominating the far wall of the boardroom. He plugged his silver laptop into the console.
“This is a desperate bluff!” Arthur yelled, stepping away from the table, his panic bleeding through his tailored suit. “She has no evidence! I demand she be removed!”
“If I have no evidence, Arthur,” I said, locking my eyes onto his terrified face, “then you have absolutely nothing to fear from what we are about to watch.”
Sterling hit a button on his keyboard.
The massive screen flickered to life. The high-definition 360-degree footage from the Lamborghini’s dashcam filled the wall.
Arthur recoiled physically, staggering a half-step backward as if he had been struck. “No,” he breathed, his eyes wide with disbelief. “I destroyed—that’s impossible.”
The video began to play. The audio from the cabin was crystal clear.
The board watched in stunned silence as the perspective showed the luxurious interior of the Urus, and out the windshield, the sunlit crosswalk in Beverly Hills. I was visible in the frame, wearing my faded sundress, walking heavily across the street.
“There she is,” Arthur’s voice echoed through the boardroom speakers, originating from the cabin of the car. “The bastard sister. She’s meeting with Sterling this afternoon.”
A gasp ripped through the boardroom. The directors stared at Arthur in horror.
“What’s the play, boss?” Marcus’s voice asked on the recording.
“Bump her. Hard enough to cause a miscarriage,” Arthur replied coldly on the tape. “If we remove the heir, we solve our inheritance problem permanently.”