Chapter 3 - Broken Collateral
The flashing red and blue lights painted the chapel walls in rhythmic waves of crimson and azure. Federal marshals flooded the vestibule, but Marcus didn't wait for them. He ripped the white boutonnière from his lapel, tossing it onto the floor before turning his back on Julianna.
""Marcus!"" Julianna screamed, her voice hoarse, fighting against Clara’s grip. ""Where are you going? We’re supposed to take our vows! The Reed family promised the joint venture!""
Marcus paused at the altar steps, his eyes dark with contempt. ""The joint venture depended on your father controlling fifty-one percent of Vance Industries. If he has no equity, Julianna, you are penniless. And my family doesn’t marry charity cases.""
A collective murmur of disgust tore through the remnants of the audience. Julianna dropped to her knees on the satin carpet, the voluminous lace of her wedding dress pooling around her like spilled cream. She looked at Richard, tears streaking her flawless foundation. ""Dad, tell him he’s wrong. Tell him we still have the island. Tell him about the trust!""
Richard stood frozen, his eyes glassy, looking past his screaming daughter to the envelope lying open on the altar.
""There is no trust for you, Julianna,"" Richard rasped, his voice barely audible over the thrum of police radios outside. ""The adoption was never formalized. I only claimed you as my legal heir after Clara’s mother died... to satisfy the board.""
Julianna stopped crying. Her mouth opened in silent horror. ""Adoption? What are you saying?""
Clara looked down at the girl who had spent twenty years living in luxury while she bled in underground shelters and low-rent tenements. ""He’s saying you were a prop. A counterfeit daughter bought from an agency to keep Mother’s fortune out of probate.""
Before Julianna could respond, two federal agents stepped between them, displaying gold badges.
""Richard Vance?"" the lead agent stated firmly. ""You are under arrest for securities fraud, conspiracy to commit murder, and interstate embezzlement.""
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Richard offered no resistance. He held out his wrists, allowing the cold steel cuffs to click into place. But as they turned him toward the center aisle, he stopped beside Clara. His cracked lips curled into a sickening, desperate grin.
""You think you’ve won, Clara,"" Richard whispered, his breath smelling of stale champagne. ""You think you’re Eleanor’s saint. Check the safety deposit box in Geneva. Ask yourself why your mother really burned that night.""
