Chapter 2 - The Lion's Den
The Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel was a glittering sea of black tuxedos, silk evening gowns, and crystal chandeliers. Wall Street titans, senators, and international shipping moguls raised glasses of expensive champagne, their laughter humming beneath the sound of a live string quartet.
At the center of the room stood Daria Vance-Sterling.
At sixty-five, my mother was the picture of terrifying elegance. Her silver hair was swept up in a flawless crown, her emerald silk gown tailored to perfection, her neck adorned with a million-dollar diamond collar. To the world, she was the grieving matriarch who had heroically kept Sterling Global afloat after her husband’s death and her son’s tragic loss.
I adjusted my cufflinks as I stepped off the elevator into the foyer.
Behind me, walking in a shadow corridor out of sight, were two former JSOC operators—my private security detail led by Marcus, a man I had kept on retainer for twenty-four months.
“Samuel!” Daria’s voice cut through the ambient noise as she spotted me. She glided across the floor, holding out her arms with a practiced, tragic maternal warmth. “I was beginning to worry. You look terribly pale, darling.”
I allowed her to touch my cheek. Her skin felt like ice.
“Traffic was heavy, Mother,” I said smoothly, accepting a glass of sparkling water from a passing waiter. “And I had a rather unexpected meeting.”
Daria’s eyes narrowed slightly—a micro-expression that only someone who had grown up under her thumb would notice.
“A meeting? On the night of our annual shareholder gala?” She rested her manicured hand on my forearm. “Samuel, you know how critical tonight is. The board is voting on the final restructuring charter at 10:00 PM. Once the voting proxy is executed, we will finally have total stability.”
Total stability. That was her euphemism for liquidating the Vanguard Trust and declaring Penelope legally deceased in absentia.
“I know precisely how important tonight is, Daria,” I said, dropping the title ‘Mother’ for the first time in my life.
Daria flinched, her dark eyes flashing with sharp irritation. “What did you just call me?”
“I said I understand,” I replied with a cold, calm smile. “Where is Mr. Vance? I thought your chief counsel would be by your side to witness your great triumph.”
Before Daria could answer, her personal phone vibrated inside her beaded evening clutch. She excused herself with a tight smile and stepped toward a quiet alcove near the velvet curtains.
I didn't need to follow her. Marcus was already patched into her cell phone band via a portable IMSI catcher.
In my earbud, I heard her hushed, furious whisper:
“What do you mean she’s missing?! How does a ten-year-old girl escape a gated compound in Westchester during a rainstorm?! Find her, Vance! If she is anywhere near Manhattan before the board signs those proxies, I will destroy you!”
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I took a slow sip of my water, leaning against the marble pillar.
“She’s not in Westchester, Mother,” I murmured quietly into my lapel mic. “She’s sitting in my penthouse, eating warm soup, and watching her father tear your world apart.”
