Inheritance of Vengeance

The rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse apartment, casting long, jittery shadows across the minimalist interior. I was pouring myself a glass of dry red wine when my phone buzzed violently on the marble kitchen island. An unknown number flashed on the screen.

I pressed accept, keeping my voice utterly devoid of emotion. 'Speak.'%

'Well, well, well. Look who thinks she's Empress of the World,' a slick, deeply unpleasant voice sneered through the speaker. It wasn't Julian. It was a voice I recognized from my father's darkest corporate nightmares: Viktor Vance... no relation to Marcus or Julian, but a ruthless billionaire hedge fund manager who had tried to hostile-takeover Sterling Global Logistics five years ago.

'Viktor,' I said, taking a slow sip of wine. 'I thought you crawled back to your Swiss bolthole after my father crushed your last acquisition attempt.'%

'Oh, your father is gone now, sweet Claire. And the little boy he trusted to guard the gates—your dear husband Julian—turned out to be remarkably easy to buy off. But it seems you've made a terrible mess of things. You arrested Julian, you humiliated Richard, and now you're sitting on a multi-billion-dollar logistics empire all by your lonesome.'%

'If you called to offer condolences, your timing is appalling. If you called to make a business pitch, my answer is no before you even finish your sentence.'%

Viktor chuckled, a dark, low sound that sent a chill down my spine. 'Don't be so hasty, Claire. I'm holding something very precious that belongs to you. Or rather... someone.'%

My grip on the wine glass tightened until my knuckles turned white. 'What are you talking about?'%

'Check your email, darling. Attachment number one.'%

I tossed my phone onto speaker, strode over to my laptop, and opened my encrypted inbox. A single new message sat at the top from an untraceable proxy server. Inside was a short video clip.

My breath caught in my throat. The video showed an elderly man tied to a chair in a dimly lit industrial warehouse—an older man with silver hair and a familiar gentle face. It was Thomas Vance... wait, no. It was Thomas Sterling... my father's older brother, my estranged uncle Thomas, whom everyone in the family had believed died in a yacht fire twenty years ago.

'Uncle Thomas...' I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs.

'He didn't die in that yacht fire, Claire,' Viktor's voice purred through the phone. 'Your dear father paid me a very handsome sum two decades ago to make him disappear, keeping the company entirely under Arthur's sole control. But guess what? Uncle Thomas is very much alive. And he holds thirty percent of the original founder shares of Sterling Global Logistics—shares that, legally, predate your father's will entirely.'%

'You're lying,' I breathed.

'Am I? Come dine with me tonight at the Grand Continental Hotel penthouse suite at 9 PM sharp. Come alone, no police, no Marcus. Just you and me. And we can discuss who really owns the empire.'%