Chapter 2 - The Call to Vesper
The digital clock on the hospital nightstand read 2:14 AM. The hospital ward was quiet, save for the rhythmic beep of an IV pump down the hall. I dialed a number I hadn't needed to call in five years.
Vesper Vance—no relation to the orthopedic surgeon—picked up on the second ring. She didn't say hello. When you ran a high-end corporate intelligence and private security firm in downtown Seattle, you didn't answer the phone with pleasantries at two in the morning.
""Fallon?"" Her voice was crisp, alert, and entirely steady. ""It’s past midnight. You only call this late when a plane is falling out of the sky or your family has crossed a line that requires a legal wrecking ball.""
""Both,"" I said, my voice shaking slightly as I gripped the hospital blanket. ""My leg is broken again. Pins shattered. Ligaments gone.""
A sharp intake of breath hissed through the receiver. ""Who did it?""
""Sutton. At her rehearsal dinner. She shoved me down a marble staircase while our cousin filmed it for content. My parents told me to stop being dramatic, refused to come to the hospital, and told me to apologize by morning.""
A cold, heavy silence stretched across the line. Vesper had been my mentor when I worked corporate investigations before starting my own aviation safety consulting firm. She knew every dark secret my family had buried for decades.
""Where are you?"" Vesper asked, her tone dropping into an icy register that meant someone was about to pay dearly.
""St. Jude’s Memorial, room 412. But I’m not staying here. I need a medical transport van, a specialized wheelchair fitted for a non-weight-bearing leg brace, and my corporate legal binder from my home safe.""
""Consider it handled,"" Vesper said immediately. ""What about the financials?""
""They cleaned out my business account,"" I whispered, the rage finally overriding the pain. ""Forty-five thousand dollars. Transferred to the resort tonight. My parents used my digital backup key while I was lying unconscious in the ambulance.""
Another pause, much shorter this time, followed by the faint click of a computer keyboard on her end.
""Oh, they are stupider than I thought,"" Vesper murmured, a dark amusement threading through her words. ""Fallon, your corporate account isn't just a personal savings buffer. It’s tied to the parent holding company we set up under Vesper Security's umbrella when you left the firm. Transferring funds out of that account without board authorization constitutes grand larceny and corporate embezzlement.""
May you like
I blinked, the fog of pain lifting slightly. ""Embezzlement?""
""Federal wire fraud, to be exact,"" Vesper corrected smoothly. ""Your father has power of attorney over your childhood medical trust, but he signed away digital corporate control when you incorporated. If they touched that money, they didn't just steal from you—they triggered an automatic audit clause that's going to freeze every asset your parents own by sunrise.""
