Chapter 3 - The Morning Ambush
At exactly eight o'clock the following morning, the door to Room 412 swung open.
Flynn strode in, looking radiant. He wore a navy bespoke double-breasted suit, a crisp white collar, and a silk tie in Vance Global’s corporate blue. Behind him walked Eleanor Vance, his sixty-two-year-old mother, draped in a lavender cashmere wrap, smelling overpoweringly of Chanel No. 5 and entitlement. Behind them both was an elderly, nervous-looking notary public carrying a leather briefcase.
"Good morning, darling," Eleanor purred, stepping toward the bed with an expression of performative motherly concern. "How are we feeling today? The doctors say your recovery will be long, but with the right... institutional care, you might regain some mobility by next winter."
I sat propped up against the pillows, my face pale, hair pulled back into a loose, messy knot, looking every bit the defeated victim they expected.
"You brought the notary," I said, my voice trembling with practiced fragility.
"Of course I did, sweetheart," Flynn said smoothly, pulling the rolling table over to my lap. He laid out the transfer documents, flipping straight to page twenty-four where several red signature tags flagged the bottom lines. "We want this over with quickly so you can rest. The gala is tonight, and I need to file these corporate resolutions with the Delaware registry before five o'clock."
"Flynn," I whispered, looking up at him through lowered eyelashes. "If I sign this... do you promise you won't send me to Greenhaven? Do you promise you'll let me stay at the cottage in Maine?"
Eleanor patted my hand with cold, bony fingers. "Of course, Mabel dear. We just want what is best for the Vance name. You've always been so... emotionally fragile. Running a multinational logistics firm was always too heavy a burden for a girl of your background. Let Flynn carry the weight. You can paint your little watercolors by the sea."
"And the three point eight million dollars?" I asked, looking Flynn dead in the eye. "The money missing from the client escrow accounts?"
Flynn’s eyes narrowed slightly, but with the notary present, he maintained his gentle, patronizing mask. "Administrative reallocation, darling. Once the new board structure is finalized, the auditors will clear everything. Now... take the pen."
He pressed the heavy rollerball into my right hand.
I held the pen above the paper. My hand shook with deliberate, dramatic tremors.
"Sign all four copies, Mabel," Greg’s voice boomed from the doorway. He had just stepped inside, his broad, athletic frame leaning against the doorframe, cracking his knuckles. He wore a tight designer shirt that showed off his gym-built physique—the same physique he had used to throw me down twelve hardwood steps. "Don't keep my brother waiting. He has a big speech tonight."
I looked at the document. Then I looked at the notary.
"Sir," I said clearly. "What is your name?"
The elderly notary blinked, startled. "Arthur Pendelton, ma'am."
"Mr. Pendelton, are you an authorized officer of the state of New York?"
"I am."
"Then I need you to witness this statement," I said, my voice suddenly dropping its trembling cadence, ringing out with crystalline authority. "I, Mabel Vance, co-founder and forty-percent equity holder of Vance Global Logistics, refuse to execute these instruments. Furthermore, I declare under penalty of perjury that these three individuals—Flynn Vance, Eleanor Vance, and Gregory Vance—are currently attempting to extort my corporate assets under extreme physical duress, following an aggravated felony assault committed against my person seventy-two hours ago."
The room went dead silent.
Mr. Pendelton’s jaw dropped. He looked between me and Flynn, his eyes darting frantically.
"What the hell are you doing?" Flynn snarled, dropping the mask instantly. He reached across the table to grab my wrist. "Sign the damn paper, Mabel!"
"Touch me again, Flynn," I said, leaning forward until our noses were inches apart, "and you won't make it to your gala tonight."
"You crazy bitch!" Greg lunged into the room, his fist clenched. "You think you're in charge here?"
Before Greg could reach the bed, the door behind him was kicked open with tremendous force.
Two towering private security officers in charcoal suits stepped into the room, followed immediately by Phoebe Sterling and two uniformed NYPD patrol officers.
"Step away from the patient," the lead officer commanded, hand resting on his service weapon.
Eleanor gasped, clutching her throat. "What is the meaning of this? Officers, this is a private family matter! My daughter-in-law is mentally deranged!"
"Save it for your arraignment, Mrs. Vance," Phoebe said smoothly, stepping past them with a leather briefcase of her own. "I am Mabel Vance’s legal counsel. We have already filed an emergency protective order against Flynn Vance, Gregory Vance, and Eleanor Vance with the Supreme Court of New York. You are all currently in violation of a temporary restraining order issued thirty minutes ago by Judge Holbrook. If any of you come within five hundred feet of my client, you will be remanded into custody without bail."
Flynn stepped back, his face turning an ugly shade of crimson. He pointed a trembling finger at me. "You think this changes anything? You think a piece of paper stops me? The board meets at four o'clock today, Mabel! I hold thirty-five percent of the voting shares, and with Mother’s five percent and the proxy votes from the European branch, we have the majority quorum! We will vote you off the executive committee before the gala even starts!"
"I look forward to seeing you try, Flynn," I said with a calm, freezing smile. "Now get out of my room before the officers escort you out in zip ties."
Eleanor glared at me with pure poison. "You ungrateful, low-class orphan! We made you! You would be nothing without the Vance name!"
"Officer," Phoebe said mildly. "Please remove the trespassers."
The patrolmen firmly guided the three Vances out into the hallway. Flynn turned back one last time, his eyes burning with frantic malice. "You're ruined, Mabel! You hear me? Ruined! You won't have a single friend left in this city by midnight!"
The door closed.
Phoebe let out a long breath, turning to look at me. "Are you alright?"
May you like
I pulled the hospital blankets aside, revealing my cast. "Never better. Did Mateo get the broadcast rig into the Plaza Hotel?"
Phoebe grinned, an expression of pure, predatory triumph. "The Plaza’s entire audiovisual grid is now running through our encrypted proxy. Flynn thinks he’s giving a victory speech tonight. He has no idea he’s starring in his own public execution."
