Chapter 592:
“You kicked an old lady,” I said.
“She had a weapon,” Elias defended. “And she’s not a lady. She’s a monster.”
“Is Sawyer okay?”
“Physically, yes,” Elias said. “Mentally… he’s going to need therapy. I’ve already arranged for him to be placed with a foster family I know personally. He won’t go back to the Sullivans.”
I stood up and walked over to him. I placed my hand on his chest. “You saved him, Elias. You didn’t hesitate.”
“I saw a child in danger,” Elias said, covering my hand with his. “I did what anyone would do.”
“No,” I said, looking into his eyes. “You did what a good man would do. The Miser of Wall Street wouldn’t ruin a six-thousand-dollar suit for a stranger.”
Elias smirked. “It was a seven-thousand-dollar suit. But who’s counting?”
A week passed. The Sullivan scandal was the only thing anyone talked about. Matriarch Sullivan was deemed unfit for trial and sent to a high-security psychiatric facility. Spencer turned himself in and was awaiting sentencing.
The air in New York felt cleaner.
However, peace was a fleeting luxury for me. I stood in the main library of the Ziegler Estate—my late father’s secret laboratory and the only tangible legacy Sebastian Vance had left me aside from my intellect.
Standing opposite me was not a family member, but a stranger. Luke Strong, CEO of Strong Development Group, a man who looked like he was carved out of granite. He wore a grey suit that fit too tightly across his broad shoulders, and a scar ran through his left eyebrow.
“Ms. Vance,” Luke said, his voice a low rumble. “Sentimentality is expensive. I’m offering you double the market value for the access rights to this property. The city needs to widen the road for the new transit hub. If you don’t sell the easement, I will lobby the zoning board to reclassify your estate as industrial. You’ll be living in a construction zone.”
𝙊𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙡 𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙚: gⲁ𝓁𝗇𝓞ⱱ𝖊𝗅𝗌﹒𝖼𝖔𝗆
I crossed my arms. “This isn’t about a road, Mr. Strong. This estate holds sensitive research archives. I can’t have heavy machinery vibrating the foundations. My answer is no.”
Luke turned his head slowly. He looked me up and down, his eyes lingering for a second too long. It wasn’t a look of lust; it was the look of a butcher assessing a cut of meat.
“Ms. Vance,” Luke said, standing up. He towered over me. “I’ve heard about you. The Phoenix. You took down the Sullivans. Impressive. But I’m not an old woman with a piece of broken glass.”
He placed a business card on the desk. It was black metal with silver lettering.
“Think about it. I hate to see accidents happen to such nice property. Pipes burst. Power lines fail. It would be a shame.”
He walked out. The room seemed to get lighter when he left.
“Who is that guy?” I asked, picking up the card. It felt cold.
My lawyer, Mr. Finch, wiped his forehead. “A shark. He’s been buying up the infrastructure around the estate. He wants to squeeze you out.”
My phone buzzed. It was Elias.
Elias: “Put on the red dress. The one that causes traffic accidents. William is finally doing it tonight. The celebratory dinner.”
I smiled, the tension fading. “Right. William’s big speech regarding the Windsor-Vance alliance. Or whatever political excuse he’s using to buy us dinner.”
.
.
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