Chapter 8 - The Falling Dominos
The verdict took less than two hours to return.
Preston Vance was found guilty on all counts: aggravated battery of a child under thirteen, perjury, and obstruction of justice. Because of the violent nature of the attack and his total lack of remorse, Judge Vance revoked his bail on the spot. The image of the golden boy of Chicago real estate being led out of the courtroom in a standard orange jumpsuit and handcuffs was plastered across every news site in the country within minutes.
But the criminal conviction was only the first domino to fall.
The day after the verdict, Beatrice’s high-society family released a formal statement announcing that she had filed for an immediate annulment of the marriage on the grounds of fraud and moral turpitude. Her family withdrew their multi-million-dollar investments from the Vance Group's upcoming downtown development projects, triggering a liquidity crisis that threatened to collapse the entire corporation.
I sat in Clara Sterling’s office, looking at a stack of certified letters from the independent trustees of the Vance Family Trust.
"It's over for your parents, Evelyn," Clara said, pouring us two cups of tea. "The independent board held an emergency meeting this morning. Based on the perjury evidence exposed during the trial, they have officially removed your father as the managing trustee of the estate. They are invoking the morality clause to strip Preston of his inheritance permanently."
"And my mother?" I asked, feeling a strange, hollow sense of relief rather than joy.
"She’s currently under investigation by the State Attorney's office for felony perjury," Clara said grimly. "They are preparing an indictment for her testimony at the trial. Your father is frantically liquidating their personal properties to pay off the corporate debts, but the banks have frozen their lines of credit. They are losing the mansion in Lake Forest, the penthouse in Miami... everything."
The door to the office opened, and my father walked in. He didn't have his secretary with him. He didn't have Arthur Pendelton. He looked ten years older, his tailored coat hanging loosely off his slumped shoulders, his hair completely white.
"Evelyn," he said, his voice cracked and devoid of the booming authority that had terrorized my childhood. He stopped at the edge of the desk, looking down at his shoes. "The board... the board wants to offer you the chairperson position. They know you have the grandfather's shares. They know you’re the only one who can stabilize the brand and stop the investors from pulling out."
I looked at the man who had watched his granddaughter bleed and adjusted his cufflinks. "I don't want the chairperson position, Father. I don't want to run an empire built on thirty years of cruelty and lies."
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"Please, Evelyn," he whispered, a genuine tear slipping down his weathered cheek. "Your mother... she can't go to jail. She won't survive it. We will give you everything. We will sign over the remaining family assets to Sophie. Just use your influence with the District Attorney to get them to drop the perjury charge against Eleanor."
I stood up, picking up my purse. "When Sophie was bleeding on that white menu card, Father, you told me to take her and leave through the service elevator because she was a disgrace. You chose your son's pristine tuxedo over your granddaughter's life. Now, it's time for you to see what happens when the lamb stops begging the wolves for mercy."
