Chapter 2 - The Ruin of Iron and Silk
The Vance estate in Gold Coast was illuminated by manicured landscape lighting, but inside the private study, the atmosphere was pitch black.
Harlan Vance poured himself his fourth glass of eighteen-year-old scotch with a hand so unsteady the crystal decanter clinked violently against the glass.
Across the room, Cordelia Vance paced back and forth across the Persian rug, her red silk dress rumpled, her face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and fury.
"This is ridiculous, Harlan!" Cordelia snapped, tossing her diamond necklace onto the mahogany desk. "He's a thug! I don't care if he owns the Ashworth Grand or half the real estate in the Loop. He put his hands on me! He humiliated me in front of the entire social club!"
"Shut up, Cordelia!" Harlan roared, slamming his glass onto the table so hard scotch sloshed onto his paperwork.
Cordelia flinched, stepping back in shock. Harlan had never raised his voice to her in the three years of their engagement.
"Do you have any idea what you did tonight?" Harlan shouted, his face turning an unhealthy shade of purple. "That 'thug' holds forty million dollars in convertible notes on Vance Enterprises! His firms were scheduled to finalize the buyout of our debt at nine o'clock tomorrow morning! Without that money, the bank forecloses on our shipping terminals by Friday!"
"Then call your attorneys!" Cordelia sneered, trying to recover her composure. "We'll spin it! I'll tell the press the waitress was stealing from my purse, or that she tripped and I tried to catch her! The newspapers love us, Harlan. Who are they going to believe? A Vance, or some penniless, unwed servant who doesn't even know who her baby's father is?"
Before Harlan could reply, his cell phone on the desk began to vibrate violently. Then a second phone rang. Then the landline on the wall.
Harlan picked up his personal phone with a trembling hand. "Hello?"
"Harlan, what the hell is going on?" the panicked voice of his Chief Financial Officer screamed through the speaker. "The Associated Press just dropped a story! It’s everywhere—Twitter, the Tribune, the Financial Times! There’s video!"
Harlan’s blood went cold. "What video?"
"The security footage from the Ashworth Grand lobby!" his CFO yelled. "It's full 4K multi-angle video! It shows Cordelia grabbing the waitress by the hair, dragging her five feet, and throwing her directly into the mirror! You can hear her screaming at the woman while she’s bleeding on the floor!"
Cordelia’s jaw dropped. "That’s impossible... Calloway said he locked the footage!"
"He didn't lock it to hide it," Harlan whispered, his eyes going wide with pure terror as the realization struck him. "He locked it to edit and distribute it."
Harlan swung his laptop around and opened the front page of the Chicago Tribune.
There, in glaring bold letters, was the headline:
HEIRESS CORDELIA VANCE ARRESTED IN FELLONIOUS ASSAULT ON PREGNANT HOTEL WORKER; CALLOWAY CAPITAL TERMINATES $40M BAILOUT
Below the headline was a crystal-clear freeze-frame of Cordelia’s face, contorted in cruel rage, holding Della by her hair while glass rained down around them.
Below that was an official statement released directly by Calloway Holdings:
"Calloway Holdings has officially severed all financial, commercial, and personal ties with Vance Enterprises and its affiliates, effective immediately. Furthermore, Calloway Legal has filed formal criminal charges of Aggravated Battery against Ms. Cordelia Vance on behalf of the victim. We do not tolerate monsters in our establishment."
Click.
The lock on the front door of the mansion echoed through the quiet house.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed across the marble entryway. Seconds later, four uniformed officers from the Chicago Police Department, accompanied by two detectives in trench coats, stepped into the study.
"Cordelia Vance?" the lead detective asked, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt.
Cordelia backed away toward the fireplace, her hands shaking. "Get away from me! Do you know who my father is? Do you know who I am?"
"You are under arrest for Aggravated Battery to a Pregnant Person, Disorderly Conduct, and Reckless Endangerment," the detective said coldly, striding forward and pulling her arm behind her back.
"Harlan! Help me!" Cordelia shrieked as the cold steel snapped around her wrists. "Do something! Call our lawyers! Call the mayor!"
Harlan didn't move. He stood frozen behind his desk, staring at his laptop screen as a second notification popped up from his primary creditor:
NOTICE OF FORECLOSURE & IMMEDIATE ASSET SEIZURE.
His empire was gone. His reputation was ashes. His future was destroyed.
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As the officers dragged a screaming Cordelia out into the rain, Harlan sank into his chair, staring at the photo of Royce Calloway embedded in the news article.
"You didn't just protect her, Calloway," Harlan whispered, his voice cracking with a dark, bitter hatred. "You executed us."
