Chapter 4 - The Audit Begins
The fallout inside Vance Cybernetics was immediate and catastrophic for my father’s faction. By Wednesday morning, forensic accountants from Deloitte had descended upon the corporate headquarters like a swarm of digital locusts. Every server log, wire transfer, and asset allocation executed over the past twenty-four months was pulled under a magnifying glass.
I sat at my executive desk on the thirty-second floor, reviewing the preliminary asset tracking report. The screen glowed with grim data. Richard Vance hadn't just plotted a hostile takeover of my voting shares; he had systematically been siphoning liquidity out of our research and development accounts to fund high-risk commercial real estate ventures in downtown Chicago—ventures registered entirely under shell companies controlled by Victoria and my mother.
My office door opened without a knock.
David Vance stepped inside. The corporate lawyer looked ten years older than he had on Monday, his tie loosened, dark shadows carved deep beneath his eyes. He didn't sit down; he merely stood by the edge of my desk, clutching a thick manila folder against his chest like a shield.
“They’re trying to block the forensic freeze on the Cayman accounts,” David said, his voice raspy and drained. “Richard retained a boutique criminal defense firm out of New York this morning. They’re filing an emergency injunction, claiming you exercised bad faith under duress.”
I didn't look up from my monitor. I kept scrolling through a spreadsheet detailing a three-million-dollar unauthorized transfer made last November while I was in Zurich.
“On what grounds?” I asked smoothly. “Under duress? Let them try. Clause 7 is backed by an independent notary and signed by Richard himself when he accepted the seed-round equity back in 2018. He signed away his right to claim bad faith when he agreed to the binding arbitration waiver.”
David swallowed hard, hesitating before speaking again. “Marcus... your mother called my office an hour ago. She was crying. She said... she said they can’t even access their personal credit cards. All family trust accounts tied to the corporate umbrella have been locked down by the state securities commission.”
I stopped scrolling. I leaned back in my leather chair, locking my eyes onto the older man who had watched me grow up.
“When my wife and seven-month-pregnant child were sleeping on a bare utility closet floor while my family ate roasted lamb in the dining room, did my mother cry?” I asked, my voice chillingly calm. “When Victoria filmed herself mocking Clara for being a ‘useless woman,’ did they show any mercy?”
David looked away, staring out the floor-to-ceiling window toward Lake Michigan. He didn't answer. He didn't have an answer.
“Tell them to save their tears for the judge,” I said, dismissing him with a wave of my hand. “The audit continues. Every single dime they stole gets returned to Vance Cybernetics, or they spend their golden years facing federal wire fraud charges.”
As David silently turned and left the office, my phone buzzed on the desk.
It was a text message from an unknown number. I tapped the screen.
May you like
“Please, Marcus. Let’s talk. Just family to family. Name your terms.” — Father.
I stared at the screen for three seconds. Then, I blocked the number, tossed the phone back onto the desk, and turned my attention back to the code running on my secondary monitor. Some bridges aren't meant to be rebuilt. Some structures are rotten all the way down to the bedrock, and the only responsible choice is to let them burn.
