Chapter 3 - The Price of a Dynasty
The air left my lungs in a sharp, silent wheeze. I clapped both hands over my mouth, my fingernails digging into my cheeks so hard I could feel the skin tear.
My mind spun into a chaotic freefall. Push her into the ocean. Tragic statistic. They weren't just talking about getting rid of me; they were plotting my murder with the clinical detachment of accountants auditing a failing subsidiary.
“And the trust fund?” Roderick’s voice cut through the hum of the engines with rapacious hunger. “When will we actually have access to the capital? The estate lawyers are vultures. If there’s any delay in probate, our liquidity crunch could blow up the whole holding company.”
Lucas gave a low, self-satisfied chuckle.
“Dad, you worry too much. I was thorough. Three weeks before the wedding, when she was stressed out with the venue deposits and catering contracts, I had her sign a comprehensive power of attorney bundled in with the estate management paperwork. She thought she was signing authorization for the wedding planners to access her secondary accounts. Instead, it grants me full executive control over her personal holdings.”
A pause, followed by the clink of glass against glass as they toasted.
“Once the Coast Guard declares her lost at sea—and given the severity of the upcoming squall, they’ll never find the body—the primary $300 million trust will be automatically transferred into our corporate umbrella and routed through my Swiss accounts within forty-eight hours. Clean, legal, and irreversible.”
Gertrude let out a sharp, triumphant laugh that sounded like the cackle of a vulture smelling carrion.
“Brilliant,” she purred. “Simply brilliant. That pathetic little heiress actually thought she married Prince Charming. She was so desperate for a family, so eager to play house, she handed us the keys to her father’s entire empire on a silver platter.”
Roderick murmured in agreement. “Arthur Vance built an empire, but he raised a sentimental fool. Speaking of Arthur... what about her parents? They can’t just ignore her disappearance.”
“They won't have time to investigate,” Lucas replied smoothly. “They’re flying out to Salt Lake City next week for that private energy summit. My contacts in regional logistics have already arranged a little 'maintenance issue' with their private jet’s auxiliary hydraulics. One sudden hydraulic failure on an icy mountain descent, and the entire Vance family will be reunited in heaven. By next month, I’ll be the sole surviving heir and executor of the Vance estate.”
My knees buckled.
The world tilted sideways. My stomach twisted into a knot so tight I thought my ribs would snap. They weren't just going to kill me—they were going to slaughter my mother and father too, wiping out our entire bloodline in a series of calculated "accidents" to ensure no one was left to contest the inheritance.
They were sitting on my father’s yacht, drinking my father’s vintage champagne, and laughing about the total annihilation of everything my family had spent three generations building.
Outside, the first heavy swells of the oncoming storm slammed against the starboard bow, sending a shudder through the multi-million-dollar hull. The ocean roared like an angry beast, reminding me of where I was: miles off the coast of Southern California, drifting in international waters, surrounded by monsters wearing human faces.
The heavy sedative fog was creeping back into my brain, pulling me downward, trying to drag me back into the sweet, painless oblivion of unconsciousness. My eyelids drooped. My legs felt like jelly.
Midnight.
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Midnight was only a few hours away. If I didn't move, if I didn't think of something right now, I would wake up in Lucas’s arms, walking up to the dark, windy aft deck under the pretense of breathing fresh air—and then there would be nothing beneath my feet except cold, black water and an eternity of silence.
I had to get back to the suite before they noticed I was gone. I had to play dead, buy myself time, and find a way to fight back.
