Chapter 7 - The Shadow of Richard Vance
The abandoned warehouse smelled of salt water, diesel fuel, and rotting timber. Julian was pushed into a rusted metal chair under a single hanging lightbulb, his hands bound loosely with zip-ties. Standing in the shadows was a man named Viktor Cruz—a former freight magnate whose offshore shell companies had been used by Richard Vance for over a decade to smuggle untaxed capital into overseas real estate.
“Your father was a very clever thief, Julian,” Cruz said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. He stepped into the light, rolling an unlit cigar between his thick fingers. “He took thirty million of my syndicate’s capital to build the Serenity Shores harbor expansion, promising double returns through your family trust.”
Julian swallowed hard, his voice trembling violently. “I don't know anything about that! My mother controls the company! She took everything from me yesterday! I don't have a single cent!”
“We know what happened in the lobby,” Cruz said calmly, leaning against a wooden crate. “The video of your little domestic drama is already circulating among private high-net-worth circles. It was quite amusing to watch a spoiled prince get dethroned by a silver-haired matriarch.”
Cruz’s face hardened, the amusement vanishing like smoke.
“What is not amusing is that your mother just locked down the entire harbor operation. Federal inspectors are crawling over the docks. My containers cannot move. My money is trapped inside your family’s jurisdiction.”
Arthur stepped forward from the shadows, his hands jammed in his pockets. “Cruz, Julian doesn't have the codes. We need Evelyn’s physical security token. It’s an encrypted flash-drive she keeps on her person at all times.”
Julian looked at his uncle in horror. “You brought me here as bait? You’re going to ransom me to her?”
Cruz chuckled dryly, a sound like scraping stones. “Ransom you? Julian, your mother threw you into the street like yesterday’s garbage. She wouldn't pay five dollars to scrape you off this concrete.”
“Then what do you want from me?” Julian cried out.
“You still have your father’s personal safe deposit key,” Arthur whispered, leaning down until his breath touched Julian’s ear. “The one he gave you on your thirtieth birthday. The one you swore you lost.”
Julian’s breath hitched. In the inner lining of his boot, sewn into the leather, was a tiny titanium key to a vault at the Swiss Union Bank in Zurich. Richard had told him to use it only if the family faced total annihilation.
“There’s nothing in that vault that can help you,” Julian stammered, lying desperately. “It’s just family letters. Old watches.”
Cruz drew a heavy black automatic pistol from under his coat, setting it down with a heavy clink on the table beside Julian’s knee.
“Inside that vault is the master ledger of Richard’s private black-budget accounts,” Cruz said. “Give us the authorization code for the Swiss key, Julian. Or Arthur will leave you here in pieces, and we will take the key from your corpse anyway.”
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Julian looked down at the gun, then up at his uncle’s empty, desperate eyes. For the first time in his life, the Vance name could not save him.
Suddenly, the heavy metal doors of the warehouse shrieked as a private security tactical vehicle smashed through the entrance, blinding the room with high-intensity spotlights.
