Chapter 2 - The Sabbatical Ends
The heavy glass doors of Giles, Apprentice and Associates parted as Julianne stepped out into the pouring Manhattan rain.
Commuters hurried along the slick sidewalks under black umbrellas, splashing through puddles as yellow cabs honked violently in gridlocked traffic.
Just beyond the building’s red awning, a custom, extended-wheelbase Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled smoothly against the curb. The vehicle was finished in matte obsidian, bearing diplomatic sovereign plates that commanded instant deference from nearby traffic officers.
A tall, distinguished gentleman in his late sixties stepped out into the downpour, opening a massive black umbrella.
Arthur Pendelton, chief executive trustee of the Vance Sovereign Trust, had served Julianne’s grandfather for four decades. He looked at Julianne with eyes that carried both grandfatherly affection and fierce professional loyalty.
"Welcome back, Miss Vance," Arthur said softly, holding the umbrella above her head.
"It’s good to see you, Arthur," Julianne replied, stepping into the climate-controlled leather interior of the Phantom.
The door closed with a vault-like thud, sealing out the noise, the rain, and the chaos of the city streets. Inside, a glass partition separated them from the driver, and two high-resolution encrypted tablets were mounted into the walnut armrests.
Arthur settled into the opposing rear seat, handing her a warm porcelain cup of Earl Grey tea.
"Your grandfather was quite patient during your four-year experiment, Julianne," Arthur remarked, pulling a leather briefing portfolio from his briefcase. "Though he did grumble frequently about your choice in men."
"Grandfather was right, as usual," Julianne admitted with a rueful smile, taking a sip of the fragrant tea. "I thought if I stripped away the Vance billions, someone would love me simply for my heart. It turns out Liam only loved the convenience of having an unpaid servant."
Arthur’s polite expression vanished, replaced by the calculating coldness of a man who managed three trillion dollars in global assets.
"Our intelligence team monitored your conference meeting," Arthur said, tapping the tablet screen. "Mr. Callaway's remarks were captured with exceptional audio clarity. His arrogance is quite breathtaking for someone whose fund is leveraged at sixteen to one."
Julianne set her cup down, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the financial readouts flickering on the screen.
"Tell me about Callaway Capital," she ordered, her voice taking on the sharp precision of a corporate commander.
"Liam launched Callaway Alpha Fund eighteen months ago," Arthur explained. "He convinced several mid-tier investors that his predictive algorithm was infallible. In reality, he has been bleeding liquidity for three consecutive quarters."
"How is he still operating?"
"He borrowed forty-five million dollars from a secondary lending syndicate," Arthur replied, sliding an account statement toward her. "A syndicate that is ninety-two percent owned by the Vance Global Real Estate Trust. In fact, Liam pays rent to your family for the very floor he just divorced you on."
A cold, razor-thin smile touched Julianne’s lips. "He told me he outgrew me, Arthur. He gave me a fifty-thousand-dollar check and suggested I look for secretarial work in Queens."
Arthur let out a quiet, aristocratic chuckle that held zero humor. "How extraordinarily considerate of him. Shall we call the loan due this afternoon?"
"No," Julianne said, looking out the tinted window at the gray towers of the Financial District. "That’s too quick. Liam believes tomorrow night’s gala at the Plaza is his coronation into high society. He thinks Victoria Sterling’s father is going to hand him the keys to the kingdom."
"Old Marcus Sterling is indeed hosting the gala," Arthur noted. "Sterling Capital is attempting to syndicate a six-hundred-million-dollar maritime logistics fund. Marcus has been begging the Vance Trust for an audience since last November."
"Has he?" Julianne raised an eyebrow. "Then send Marcus an invitation to dinner at our Fifth Avenue estate tonight. It’s time Wall Street remembered whose money actually makes the world turn."
May you like
Arthur bowed his head with deep satisfaction. "Consider it done, Miss Vance. And regarding your wardrobe for tomorrow evening?"
"Call the atelier at Place Vendôme," Julianne commanded. "Have them fly the private jet over tonight with the diamond choker my grandmother wore to the coronation. If Liam wants to see what pedigree looks like, I’m going to show him."
