Chapter 2 - The Audit of the Vales
The next morning, the sun rose over the Dallas estate, but the warmth of dawn couldn't melt the frost that had settled over the household.
The guests had fled before midnight, sneaking out through the service gates like rats leaving a sinking ship once word spread that Julian Vance was back and his enforcers had locked down every exit. No one left. No one called the police. In my world, calling the cops on me was a suicide note; calling my lawyers was an execution.
Inside the grand dining room, the crystal chandelier hummed quietly overhead.
My mother, Margaret, sat at the head of the mahogany table. She wasn't crying. Margaret Vance didn't cry; she calculated. But for the first time in her life, her hands were shaking as she clutched a porcelain teacup. Her diamond rings—dozens of them, bought with corporate embezzlement funds funneled through my restaurant front companies—glittered mockingly in the morning light.
Jennifer sat across from her, her face bruised from where one of my guards had gently nudged her back into a chair when she tried to storm out at dawn. Michael was wrapped in gauze, sitting in the corner with an ice pack pressed against his swollen jaw, glaring at me with venomous hatred.
I sat at the opposite end of the table, slowly turning a silver letter opener between my fingers.
Emma wasn't at the table. Upstairs, a private doctor I had flown in from Zurich was tending to her hands, administering burn salve and antibiotics, making sure the infection hadn't set into her cracked skin. Every second the doctor spent up there added another layer of debt to my family’s ledger—a debt they could never hope to pay off.
"Julian," Margaret finally spoke, her voice dropping into that icy, manipulative tone she had used to control me since I was a boy. "Have you completely lost your mind? Assaulting your own brother? Locking our guests inside the gates like prisoners? All because of a kitchen maid who doesn't know her place?"
The letter opener stopped spinning.
I didn't look up immediately. I let the silence stretch until the grandfather clock in the corner sounded like a ticking bomb.
"A kitchen maid," I repeated softly.
I slid a thick manila folder across the length of the mahogany table. It came to a stop right against Margaret’s teacup, splashing a dark ring of Earl Grey across the lace tablecloth.
"Open it, Mother," I said.
Margaret’s jaw tightened. She reached out with trembling fingers, flicked open the metal clasp, and pulled out the first stack of papers.
It was a forensic audit. Every wire transfer, every offshore account, every hidden real estate purchase made over the last four years by my family using my corporate identification numbers.
"Fourteen million dollars," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, yet every person in the room flinched. "That’s how much you’ve drained from my primary accounts while I was overseas securing the European shipping lanes. You bought penthouses in Miami. You bought horses for Jennifer’s daughters. You financed Michael’s fake tech startups that went bankrupt in six months."
"It's family money!" Margaret snapped, slamming the papers down. "You have billions, Julian! We are your blood! We gave you the start you needed when you were just a street thug crawling out of the slums! We are entitled to our share of the crown!"
"You were entitled to a comfortable life," I corrected, standing up slowly from my chair. The chair legs screeched against the hardwood floor, a sound like fingernails on a chalkboard. "I gave you allowances that could buy small countries. I gave you homes, cars, security, and respect. But you weren't satisfied with wealth, Mother. You wanted power over the only person in this world who loved me before I became a monster."
I walked around the table, stopping directly behind Margaret’s chair. I leaned down, my breath cold against her ear.
"As of six o'clock this morning, all your corporate credit cards have been canceled," I said. "Every vehicle registered in your names has been repossessed. The title of this mansion was transferred thirty minutes ago to a shell corporation wholly owned by Emma."
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Jennifer stood up so fast her chair fell backward, crashing to the floor. "You can't do that! This is our home! Where are we supposed to go?!"
"Wherever you want," I said, turning to face her with dead, unblinking eyes. "As long as it's outside the state of Texas. Because if any of you ever come within five miles of my wife again, I won't just take your money. I'll take your names off the census."
