Chapter 9 - The Grand Staircase
I placed Elena at a secure safehouse guarded by two former team members from my unit, then drove directly to the address Harris had provided for E.M. Holdings.
The iron gates of the oceanfront mansion stood wide open, inviting me into the lion's den.
I walked through the towering front doors, my hand rested securely on the grip of my weapon. The grand foyer was vast and sterile, smelling faintly of expensive perfume and hospital antiseptic.
At the top of a sweeping marble staircase sat my mother in a motorized wheelchair. She looked frail, but her pale eyes held the same suffocating, bitter greed that had poisoned my entire childhood.
"You always did have a terrible habit of interfering, Lucas," she called down, her voice crisp and entirely devoid of any dementia.
A tall man in a bespoke charcoal suit stepped out from the shadows beside her, holding a thick leather portfolio.
"Allow me to introduce myself, Mr. Miller," the man said smoothly.
"I am the managing trustee of Arthur Vance's estate. Your mother brought me a very persuasive business arrangement three years ago."
"She tortured his daughter," I said, stepping onto the first stair.
"She offered a legal shortcut," the trustee corrected without flinching.
"If Elena is unfit to manage fifty million dollars, the charter dictates control passes to her immediate legal guardians. Your mother agreed to split the oversight management fees with my firm. It’s purely business."
"It was business," I said, pulling my phone from my pocket and tapping the screen.
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"Until ten minutes ago, when the Federal District Attorney frozen the Vance trust under the International Anti-Racketeering Act."
The trustee’s calm expression instantly shattered.
