Chapter 6 - The Ultimatum
My mother closed her eyes again, a low, shuddering sob escaping her lips as my words settled over the sterile hospital room like a shroud. She didn't argue. She didn't defend my father. She simply turned her head toward the window, retreating into the quiet despair that had become the final legacy of the Vance family.
Monica stepped between me and the bed, her eyes flashing with a sudden, protective fire that I hadn't seen in her before.
"Enough, Jules," Monica whispered fiercely, keeping her voice low so as not to agitate our mother further. "You've won. You got your revenge. You destroyed his company, you took the house, and you brought them to their knees. What more do you want? Do you want to see them in prison? Do you want to strip away their last remaining dignity?"
I looked at my sister, my expression remaining completely unreadable. "Prison isn't my decision, Monica. That belongs to the federal prosecutors reviewing the financial audit Marcus provided. If Dad engaged in corporate fraud and asset concealment to pad his personal accounts, the law takes its course. I am simply the creditor collecting what is owed."
"You could drop the charges," Monica pressed, grabbing my arm with desperate urgency. "You have the power to call off the legal team, restructure the debt, and give them a small allowance to live on somewhere quiet. You have billions, Jules. Literally billions. This is chump change to you!"
I looked down at her hand on my arm, then slowly raised my eyes to meet hers. She pulled her hand back immediately, shrinking slightly under my gaze.
"It's not about the money, Monica," I said, my voice ice-cold. "It's about accountability. For twenty-two years, I lived in a house where my achievements were mocked, my presence was tolerated, and my future was treated as a joke. You were the golden child, Monica. You got the PhD, the praise, the unconditional love. Did you ever once speak up for me? Did you ever once tell Dad that what he did at Lorenzo's Grill was vile?"
Monica flinched as if I had struck her physically. She looked down at the linoleum floor, her lower lip trembling.
"I was afraid," she whispered, the confession barely audible over the hum of the heart monitor. "If I defended you, Dad would have turned his sights on me. I protected myself by staying silent. And I've hated myself for it every single day since."
"Silence is complicity, Monica," I replied softly. "And now, you're paying the interest on that silence."
Before Monica could respond, the door to the hospital room swung open, and Marcus stepped inside, holding his tablet device. He cast a discreet glance at Monica before looking directly at me.
"Ms. Vance," Marcus said, his tone brisk and professional. "We have a developing situation at the estate. Your father refused to leave the premises when the county marshals arrived to secure the property. He barricaded himself inside the master study and is threatening local law enforcement with legal injunctions—or worse, self-harm."
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A cold spike of adrenaline shot through me, but I kept my exterior completely frozen.
"Call the crisis negotiation team, Marcus," I instructed without missing a beat. "And patch me through to the lead officer on the scene. I'm going back to Villanova."
