Chapter 9 - The Trap Snaps Shut
A federal agent reached inside, grabbing Isabella by the collar of her designer coat and dragging her out into the blinding daylight and the freezing wind of the highway.
“GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!” she shrieked, kicking wildly, her perfectly styled hair coming undone as she was slammed facedown onto the hood of the FBI cruiser. “I AM A VANCE! YOU CANNOT TOUCH ME! DO YOU KNOW WHO MY LAWYERS ARE?!”
“Isabella Vance,” a federal agent barked, pressing his knee firmly between her shoulder blades while ratcheting cold, heavy steel handcuffs around her wrists—not polite corporate zip-ties this time, but real, unforgiving maximum-security irons. “You are under arrest for attempted murder, conspiracy to commit murder, corporate espionage, and federal witness tampering.”
“It’s a lie! Khloe fabricated it! She’s insane!” Isabella screamed, her face pressed against the cold, dirty metal of the car hood, gravel scratching her cheek.
A sleek black Maybach pulled up behind the tactical barricade.
The door opened, and Marcus stepped out.
He didn’t look angry anymore. He looked completely at peace. He walked slowly toward the cruiser, his hands casually shoved into the pockets of his overcoat.
Isabella lifted her head, her eyes wild, spitting hair from her mouth. “Marcus! Marcus, tell them! Tell them she set me up! We’re family, Marcus! We share the same blood!”
Marcus stopped three feet away from her. He looked down at her with the pity one might reserve for a rabid dog about to be put down.
“We don't share blood, Isabella,” Marcus said, his voice ringing clear over the howl of the highway wind. “The genetic test results from Father’s autopsy exhumation came back this morning along with the toxicology report.”
Isabella went completely still.
“You’re not his daughter,” Marcus whispered, leaning down so only she could hear. “Your mother had an affair thirty years ago with an accountant. Father knew. That’s why he rewrote the trust. You never had a single drop of Vance blood in your veins. You were never an heir. You were just a parasite living off our name.”
Isabella’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. The foundation of her entire life, her entire motivation, her entire identity—the divine right she believed she had to the Vance empire—crumbled into meaningless dust beneath her feet.
“Marcus… no… no, that’s impossible… Mother wouldn't…”
“Enjoy federal prison, Isabella,” Marcus said coldly, stepping back. “You will never see the sun without bars in front of your eyes again.”
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The agents forced her head down and shoved her into the caged back seat of the tactical vehicle. As the heavy steel doors slammed shut, Isabella began to scream—a primal, shattering howl of total defeat that was instantly cut off as the convoy rolled away with flashing sirens.
***
