Chapter 301

ARTHUR'S POV

The massive glass doors of the Vance Group corporate headquarters rattled loudly as I pushed my way through the main lobby.

My chest felt heavy, every single breath burning like fire in my throat. My polished leather shoes clicked with a sharp, rapid rhythm against the white marble floor as I marched toward the private executive elevators.

"Good morning, Mr. Vance," the front desk receptionist said, her voice shaking slightly as she scrambled up from her chair. "The board members are already waiting in the main conference room. They said it was extremely urgent."

I didn't answer her. I didn't even turn my head to look in her direction.

I stepped straight into the elevator, pressing the silver button for the top floor, and watched the red digital numbers count upward.

My mobile phone in my inner jacket pocket vibrated continuously, the screen lighting up again and again with dozens of missed calls from news reporters, legal advisors, financial analysts, and angry board executives.

The moment the elevator doors slid open on the forty-fifth floor, my lead corporate attorney, Richard, rushed forward to meet me. His tie was pulled loose at his neck, his forehead glistening with a thin sheet of cold sweat.

"Arthur, thank God you are finally here," Richard said, his voice dropping to an anxious, frantic whisper as he hurried beside me down the wide carpeted hallway. "It happened twenty minutes ago. The moment the morning stock market bell rang, everything collapsed."

I stopped dead in my tracks, turning my head slowly to glare at him. "What are you talking about, Richard? Speak clearly."

"The federal prosecutors," Richard said, holding up a sleek tablet with a trembling hand. "They issued a formal freeze on every single corporate bank account. The Securities Commission launched an emergency raid on our secondary offices down in the financial district. Someone leaked every single offshore routing ledger from our Cayman accounts."

My blood ran completely cold. The air in the hallway suddenly felt thin and freezing.

"That is impossible," I said, my voice dangerously low. "Those files were heavily encrypted on a private, offline server. Only three people had access to those codes."

"Someone handed the master keys directly to the federal agents, Arthur," Richard insisted, his voice cracking with pure panic. "The media outlets got hold of the story at the exact same time. Our stock price dropped seventy percent in ten minutes flat. Trading has been completely halted by the regulators. We are bankrupt, Arthur. The Vance Group is finished."

"Silence," I growled, my hands clenching into tight, white-knuckled fists at my sides. "Get the full legal team on the phone right now. Call the chief prosecutor immediately. I paid for his entire re-election campaign last year. Tell him I demand a private meeting in my office within the hour."

"He won't take your calls, Arthur," Richard said quietly, his eyes dropping to the floor. "He signed the search warrant himself twenty minutes ago. Federal marshals are on their way to this very building right now to seize our private servers and financial records."

I stared at him, completely unable to speak.

Everything I had spent forty long years building, the power, the reputation, the Vance family name, the legacy was crumbling into worthless dust right before my eyes. And I knew exactly who held the hammer.

Brandon Sterling.

He wasn't just coming after Julian for the break-in at his estate. He was systematically tearing down my entire life to ensure we had zero money and zero power left to fight back.

"Get out of my way," I said, shoving roughly past Richard and marching straight back toward the private elevator.

"Arthur, where are you going?" Richard called out, running a few steps after me down the hall. "The entire board of directors is waiting for you in the main conference room. You need to go in there and address them."

"Tell the board to go straight to hell," I snapped as the elevator doors slid open. "I have to go home to deal with my son."

The drive back to the Vance family estate was a dark nightmare of pouring rain and endless red traffic lights. I sat in the back seat of my luxury sedan, watching the breaking news updates on my phone screen. Every major headline was saying the exact same thing. The Vance Group was under federal criminal investigation. The family assets were completely frozen. The corporate bank accounts were empty.

By the time my driver pulled the car through the heavy iron gates of the estate, my cold shock had turned into a burning, uncontrollable fury.

Julian had brought this disaster upon us. His sickly obsession with Aria, his complete lack of self-control, his utter stupidity was the cause of this as he had handed Brandon Sterling the exact legal weapon needed to ruin us forever.

I slammed the car door open, stepping over the wet stone driveway, and marched up the grand marble steps. I threw the heavy double front doors wide open.

My wife, Eleanor, was standing near the bottom of the grand staircase, a silver tea tray trembling wildly in her hands. Her face was deathly pale, her eyes filled with absolute terror.

"Arthur," she whispered, her voice shaking violently as she saw my terrifying expression. "I saw the news reports on the television. Is it true? Are the corporate accounts really frozen?"

"Where is Julian?" I demanded, my booming voice echoing off the high stone walls of the foyer.

"Arthur, please, calm down," Eleanor pleaded, stepping quickly in front of the bottom step to block my path. "He is upstairs in his bedroom. He hasn't come down all morning."

"Get out of my way, Eleanor," I said, pushing past her without hesitation and marching up the grand staircase two steps at a time.

"Arthur, don't hurt him," she cried out, running up the stairs directly behind me. "He realizes his mistake now. He sat in his room and promised me he wants to help fix the company."

I ignored her completely, striding down the long upper hallway until I stood directly outside Julian's heavy oak bedroom door. Two heavy-set private security guards in black suits were standing on either side of the locked entrance.

"Unlock the door," I commanded, staring at the thick wood with cold eyes.

"Sir, the key isn't turning," the first guard said, looking visibly confused as he jiggled the brass handle back and forth. "The deadbolt seems to be jammed from the inside."

"What do you mean jammed?" I shouted, my temper completely flaring over. "You two have been standing out here all morning. Did anyone enter this room?"

"No, Mr. Vance," the second guard answered quickly, shaking his head. "No one came up these stairs except Mrs. Vance three hours ago when she brought him a food tray."

I turned my head instantly, glaring down at my wife. "What did you do, Eleanor?"

Eleanor swallowed hard, the last bit of color draining from her face. "I... I only brought him some warm soup, Arthur. He looked so tired and broken. I just gave him my old tablet so he could check the company stock news."

"You foolish, useless woman," I growled, shoving the nearest guard out of my way. "Break the door down. Right now."

The two guards nodded, stepping back into the hallway before throwing their heavy shoulders against the solid oak wood. The heavy door frame creaked loudly, the wood splintering under the brutal impact.

They threw their combined weight against it a second time, and the door burst open with a loud crash, slamming hard against the interior wall.

I stepped into the dark bedroom, my sharp eyes sweeping across the quiet space.

The room was completely silent. The large bed was unmade, the heavy sheets tossed messily to the side. The silver tray Eleanor had brought sat on the small coffee table, the bowl of soup completely cold and untouched.

"Julian," I called out, my voice sharp and demanding. "Get out here right now."

There was no answer.

I walked swiftly across the soft carpet toward the private bathroom, kicking the door wide open. It was completely empty.

"Arthur, look," Eleanor gasped from behind me, pointing a shaking finger toward the far side of the room.

I turned around quickly and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling glass balcony doors. The left glass panel was unlocked and pushed open several inches, allowing the cold rain to blow freely into the room, soaking the edge of the dark curtain.

I stepped out onto the wet stone terrace. On the cold floor near the iron railing lay two black security walkie-talkies, their red power lights blinking uselessly. Beside them were the two private guards I had assigned to watch the terrace from the outside.

Both men were lying flat on their backs, completely unconscious on the wet stone, their wrists bound tightly with heavy plastic cable ties.

I leaned over the wet balcony railing, looking down into the darkness. A heavy climbing rope was tied securely to the iron bars, dangling all the way down to the dark, muddy bushes surrounding the estate's outer perimeter wall.

"He's gone," Eleanor sobbed, pressing her hands tightly over her mouth as she stepped onto the wet terrace behind me. "Oh, my God. Julian is gone."

I stood out in the pouring rain, staring down at the empty garden below while the cold water soaked through my expensive suit.

My money was gone. My company was ruined. My reputation was destroyed. And now my lunatic son had escaped into the night, completely free to bring even more total destruction upon what little was left of our lives.

"Arthur," Eleanor whimpered, pulling helplessly at my wet sleeve. "What are we going to do now?"

I slowly pulled my cold hands out of my suit pockets, staring out into the gray, stormy horizon.

"There is nothing left to do, Eleanor," I said, my voice completely dead and hollow inside. "Brandon Sterling didn't just break us. He made sure we burned to the ground."