Chapter 6 - The Voice from Arizona
The call connected on the fourth ring.
"Chloe," a deep, raspy voice answered over the speakerphone. Harrison Vance didn't do small talk. He never had. "It's Thanksgiving. Why are you calling me?"
"Uncle Harrison," I said, my voice steadying as I looked at the city lights flashing past the SUV window. "I need to ask you a favor."
A brief pause drifted across the line, accompanied by the faint clink of ice cubes against glass. "You haven't asked me for a penny since your father died. What happened?"
"I just left Mark," I said flatly. "Ten minutes ago."
Silence fell over the phone—heavy, expectant, and sharp.
"Did he cheat on you?" Harrison asked, his tone dropping into a region that usually made corporate boardrooms shudder.
"No," I said. "His sister Megan slapped Lily across the face at their Thanksgiving dinner table. Mark told me to let it go so they could finish their meal. When I hit Megan back and defended my daughter, Frank and Carol threw us out onto the street in thirty-degree weather."
The silence on the line stretched for five long seconds. Then, I heard the distinctive sound of a heavy glass tumbler being set firmly onto a granite tabletop.
"They hit my grand-niece?" Harrison asked, his voice deathly quiet. "In front of him? And he stood there?"
"Yes."
Harrison took a slow, deep breath. "For seven years, Chloe, I have allowed that arrogant middle-manager Frank Peterson to charge a two-percent annual management fee on fifty-two million dollars of my capital because I believed he was providing a secure life for you and that child. I let him pretend he earned that portfolio."
"I know, Uncle," I whispered.
"Is the child safe?"
"She's with me. We're on our way to Zoe's apartment."
"Good," Harrison said. "Keep her warm. Do not speak to Mark Peterson. Do not answer his calls. Do not sign anything his lawyers send you."
"What are you going to do?" I asked.
"Tomorrow morning is Black Friday," Harrison said, his raspy voice turning into pure iron. "Markets are open for an abbreviated session at 8:30 AM Eastern. By 9:00 AM, Peterson Financial Group will no longer hold a single dollar of Vance capital. By noon, I will call the managing partners at the audit board to request an immediate forensic review of their operational expenses."
"Harrison," Zoe chimed in from the driver's seat. "Make sure you copy Megan Peterson's marketing budget in that review."
A dry, bitter laugh echoed from Arizona. "Consider it done. Chloe... go sleep. Leave the Petersons to me."
The call disconnected with a sharp click.
May you like
I lowered the phone onto my lap, looking back at Lily, who was now fast asleep under her quilt.
The storm was coming for the Petersons, and for the first time in seven years, I was no longer standing in its path.
