Chapter 4 - The Poisoned Champagne
Back inside the grand library of the Vance mansion, the atmosphere was thick with triumphant indulgence.
Arthur Vance poured himself a three-finger measure of fifty-year-old Macallan whiskey. He raised his crystal tumbler toward Julian and Victoria, his chest swelling with satisfaction.
"To the future of Vance Global," Arthur declared, taking a deep sip. "To a real woman who understands duty, and to the true grandson who will carry our name into the next century."
Evelyn Vance smiled, raising her champagne flute. "Thank God that miserable creature is finally gone. Did you see the theatrical stunt she pulled? Tearing up twelve million dollars! Pure, unadulterated madness. She’ll be sleeping on a subway grate by the end of the week, begging for scraps."
Victoria chuckled softly, leaning closer to Julian. "I almost felt sorry for her, Julian. To be so desperate, so completely unhinged. You made the right choice, my love. Our baby deserves a whole family. A pure pedigree."
Victoria took Julian’s hand and pressed it gently against her rounded belly.
Julian felt the warm silk of her gown. But underneath his palm, his hand felt numb. Cold.
He couldn't get the sound of that slap out of his ears.
Julian had spent his entire life terrified of his father. Arthur Vance was a tyrant who ruled through fear and financial leverage. Julian had spent twenty-nine years bending his knee, surrendering his passions, and trading his conscience for his father's approval.
When Victoria had come to his penthouse four months ago, showing him a positive pregnancy test and weeping about their secret affair, Julian had felt trapped. But his father had been ecstatic. *“Finally! A real Vance! Dump that sterile nobody, Julian, or I will write you out of the will entirely!”*
Julian had chosen the money. He had chosen the safety of his inheritance. He had told himself Emily was an acceptable casualty.
Yet right now, looking at the confetti of torn paper scattered across the Persian rug, an icy nausea rose in the pit of his stomach.
*“Ask Victoria. And Julian? Check the date on the pathology report from your hospital stay in Zurich last November.”*
The words echoed in Julian’s skull like a rhythmic hammer strike.
Zurich.
Last November, Julian had suffered a catastrophic sports injury while skiing in the Swiss Alps, followed by a severe pelvic infection and emergency surgery. He remembered waking up in the sterile private suite, groggy and in agonizing pain. Emily had been there, her eyes swollen from days of crying, holding his hand, kissing his forehead, feeding him broth like a mother tending a sick child.
He remembered asking her about the surgical results. Emily had simply smiled through her tears, stroke his cheek, and told him: *“The doctors fixed everything, my love. You’re going to be completely healthy.”*
Why had she mentioned the pathology report tonight?
Julian pulled his hand away from Victoria’s stomach, standing up abruptly.
"Julian?" Victoria blinked, her perfectly painted eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "Darling, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," Julian muttered, straightening his jacket. "I... I have a severe headache. The stress of tonight."
Arthur scoffed, waving his whiskey glass dismissively. "Nonsense! Have another drink and celebrate, boy! You're a free man! Tomorrow night is the Vance Global Fortieth Anniversary Gala at the Plaza Hotel. The entire New York elite will be there. The mayor, Wall Street titans, international ambassadors. We will officially announce your engagement to Victoria and the coming heir. We will wipe the floor with our competitors."
"Arthur," Evelyn interjected, looking up from her tablet with a faint frown. "Our chief financial officer, Thomas, just sent an urgent email marked critical. He says there's a liquidity anomaly with the offshore debt accounts."
Arthur waved his hand again with arrogant disregard. "Thomas is an old woman who panics at shadows. We secured the extension from Valmont Capital last month. Those Swiss bankers love our interest rates. Tell him to handle it on Monday. Tonight, we celebrate!"
Julian didn't join in the laughter. He turned on his heel and walked swiftly out of the library, heading straight up the grand staircase toward his private study.
He locked the heavy mahogany door behind him.
His heart was hammering against his ribs with terrifying velocity. He rushed to the wall safe hidden behind an oil painting, spun the dial frantically, and pulled open the heavy steel door.
Inside were his personal passports, real estate deeds, and the medical records from the Zurich hospital.
Julian pulled out the thick leather binder containing his European medical records. He flipped through the pages, his breath catching in his throat.
Discharge papers. Surgical notes. Anesthesia logs.
He flipped to the section labeled: *Confidential Urological & Reproductive Pathology.*
The page was missing.
In its place was a small, blank sheet of paper with a single note written in Emily’s elegant, flowing handwriting:
*“Some truths are kept to protect you. Some truths are revealed to destroy you. Choose carefully whose child you raise, Julian.”*
Julian dropped the binder onto the desk, his knees nearly giving out beneath him. Cold sweat broke out across his forehead.
He stared at the note, his mind racing into a dark, terrifying abyss.
What had happened in Zurich? What had Emily hidden from him?
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And who the hell was carrying Victoria Sterling’s baby?
***
