Chapter 15 - The Family Meeting
Richard Vance looked like a man who had spent the last seventy-two hours consuming black coffee and pure panic. Gone was the arrogant swagger that had defined every family gathering; in its place was a twitchy, defensive posture, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as if he were trying to hide a tremor.
"Richard," Claire said, her tone entirely neutral as she wiped her hands on a rag. "If you’re looking for Ethan, he was here last night. I recommend checking the park benches near the river."
Richard flinched, stepping further into the gallery and looking around nervously at the soaring ceilings and high-end art installations. "I know where Ethan is. Or rather, I know where his creditors are looking for him. Which is why I’m here."
Claire crossed her arms, leaning back slightly against the edge of a heavy wooden work table. "And what does the illustrious Richard Vance, senior partner of his own firm, want with his brother's ex-wife?"
Richard swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing sharply. He forced a strained, uncomfortable smile—the kind of smile a man uses when he’s trying to sell a sinking ship to an auditor.
"Let’s not play games, Claire," Richard said, his voice dropping defensively. "You know as well as I do that the family name is taking a beating because of Ethan’s... indiscretions. The board at Vance Global is breathing down my neck. Grandfather Arthur has frozen all discretionary trusts, and rumors are swirling that the SEC is looking into some of Ethan’s old accounts."
"And that concerns me... why?" Claire asked, raising an eyebrow. "When Ethan paraded his mistress in front of the entire city at his promotion party, did anyone in the Vance family step up to protect my reputation? When your mother treated me like a piece of antique furniture expected to sit quietly in the corner, did you say a single word in my defense?"
Richard flushed crimson, looking away toward a massive painting on the wall. "That was Ethan’s mess. He made his bed."
"Exactly," Claire snapped, her voice suddenly ringing with a sharp, authoritative ring that made Richard jump. "He made his bed. And now the entire dynasty is discovering that houses built on sand tend to wash away when the tide comes in. You didn't come here to talk about Ethan, Richard. You came here because you’re worried your own position at Vance Global is next on the chopping block."
Richard opened his mouth to deny it, but the exhausted, defeated look in his eyes betrayed him. He let out a long, ragged sigh, his shoulders slumping.
"Grandfather is looking for a successor," Richard admitted quietly, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "Ever since the promotion party disaster, the old man has been reviewing corporate governance across all subsidiaries. If I can't stabilize the family’s public image—if I can't show that we are moving forward with stability and grace—he’s going to pass the chairmanship to our cousin Marcus in New York."
Claire stared at him, a profound sense of irony washing over her. For years, she had lived in the shadow of these men, treated like an accessory whose only purpose was to smile politely at dinners and look good in evening gowns. Now, the great and powerful Vance family was coming to her—not for charity, but for validation.
"And what makes you think I have any interest in helping the Vance family salvage its public relations?" Claire asked coldly.
"Because," Richard said, stepping forward with a pleading look in his eyes, "you’re holding all the cards now. You own this gallery. You have the art world at your feet. If you were to release a brief public statement—just a simple word wishing the Vance family well as they restructure—it would kill the media narrative that we’re at war."
Claire looked at him for a long, silent moment. She thought back to the night of the party—the humiliation, the shock, the champagne glass shattering on the marble floor, and the crushing weight of a life built on lies. Then she looked around her gallery, bathed in the golden autumn sunlight pouring through the massive front windows.
May you like
"No, Richard," Claire said softly, turning her back on him to pick up her paintbrush. "I won't write you a statement. I won't save your career. And I certainly won't help protect a family name that was built on the backs of everyone you all thought were beneath you."
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