Chapter 9 - The Aunt Who Never Existed
The name hung in the damp night air between us, heavy and unbelievable.
"Aunt Catherine?" I echoed, staring at the woman standing before me in the cemetery mud. "That's impossible. My mother told me both of my uncles were dead—that Richard was the only one left, and that he stole the entire family empire."
Catherine let out a bitter, humorless laugh, shaking her head as she stepped closer.
"Richard controls the public narrative of the Vance family, Claire," Catherine said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He rewrote history just like he rewrote corporate filings. When your grandfather died, and your father was murdered, Richard tried to eliminate everyone who stood between him and total control of Vance Industries."
"He tried to kill you too?" I asked, my voice barely audible above the rustling willow branches.
"I barely survived a staged boat accident in 1996," Catherine revealed, pulling back the collar of her trench coat to reveal a jagged, extensive burn scar running down the side of her neck and shoulder. "I went into hiding under an assumed name in Europe, watching from the shadows as Richard consolidated his power, believing that your mother and you had perished in the purge."
She pointed down toward the stone marker beneath my knees.
"Your mother kept in touch with me through encrypted channels for years. When she knew her cancer was terminal, she set this up. This plot is empty, Claire. But the vault beneath it holds the one thing Richard fears more than anything else in this world."
"What is it?" I asked, my heart pounding against my ribs.
"The original, unamended will of Arthur Vance," Catherine declared firmly. "The one that proves Julian was the rightful majority shareholder, and that everything Richard currently owns was stolen through fraud, forgery, and murder."
Before I could process the magnitude of her words, the harsh glare of high-intensity flashlights suddenly cut through the darkness of the cemetery.
"Freeze! Federal Marshals and Vance Security! Nobody moves!" a booming voice echoed across the open lawns.
From behind the marble headstones, half a dozen armed operatives in tactical gear emerged, surrounding us in a tight, inescapable circle.
At the front of the formation stood a familiar figure, stepping out from the headlights of a gleaming black sedan parked near the main gates.
Marcus.
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He looked bruised and disheveled from our encounter at the Chronicle, but his expression was triumphant as he walked toward us, flanked by two armed guards.
"Nice try, Catherine," Marcus called out, a smug grin spreading across his face. "Did you really think an old ghost could outsmart a trillion-dollar security network?"
