Chapter 11 - THE MORNING AFTER
By 6:00 AM on Thursday—twenty-four hours before my twenty-ninth birthday—the breaking news banner across CNBC read: VANCE & CO. CEO ARRESTED IN HUDSON PIER FATALITY; SHARES PLUNGE 18% IN PRE-MARKET TRADING.
Police divers had recovered Celeste’s body from the river at dawn, along with her waterlogged handbag. The metal briefcase containing the original Zurich ledgers, however, had sunk to the riverbed and remained missing. Nathan was being held without bail at the Manhattan Detention Complex, charged with vehicular manslaughter and attempted destruction of evidence.
I sat in the boardroom on the top floor of the Vance Building, wearing a sharp black tailored suit. Marcus Vance sat to my left, a mountain of legal briefs stacked before him.
Around the marble oval table sat the eight remaining board members of Vance & Co.—older, wealthy men and women whose fortunes were tied directly to the brand’s survival. Panic radiated off them like heat from an oven.
"This is an unmitigated disaster!" declared Arthur Pendelton, the board’s senior director, slamming his fountain pen onto the wood. "Our reputation is in tatters, our stock is cratering, and the company has a forty-million-dollar inventory note due to Aegis Capital by 5:00 PM tomorrow! If we default, Aegis takes total ownership of our diamond vault and forecloses on the company!"
"Aegis Capital isn't a standard private equity firm, Arthur," Marcus interjected, his voice low and firm. "They operate as an offshore loan sharking syndicate disguised as a Luxembourg holdings company. Nathan pledged fifty-one percent of our raw diamond reserves as collateral without board authorization."
"Nathan acted fraudulently," I said, leaning forward and resting my hands flat on the glass table. "As of this morning, Judge Thorne extended the emergency injunction. Nathan’s voting power is suspended. As Eleanor Vance’s primary heir, I will assume temporary chairwoman status effective immediately."
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Pendelton scoffed, looking at me with a mixture of condescension and desperation. "You’re twenty-eight years old, Emma. You’ve spent the last five years designing bridal collections, not negotiating forty-million-dollar institutional debt defaults. Aegis Capital’s lead representative is arriving in Manhattan in three hours. They don't want a settlement—they want the empire."
"Then they’re going to be disappointed," I replied, my eyes locked on Pendelton. "Because they haven't dealt with Eleanor Vance’s daughter yet."
