Chapter 3 - The BloodlineThe oncology wing on the fifth floor was quiet, bathed in soft golden light designed to keep the pediatric patients calm.
Within forty-five minutes, a lab technician had drawn four vials of blood from my arm. I didn't even feel the needle. My eyes were glued through the glass window of Room 512, where Clara lay propped up against fluffy white pillows, a tiny IV line taped to the back of her small, delicate hand.
Grace sat in the armchair beside the bed, softly reading a picture book to Leo and Nora, who were sitting quietly on a fleece blanket on the floor.
I leaned my forehead against the cool glass window, watching them.
Three years. For three entire years, I had lived in my pristine, high-rise penthouse overlooking Lake Michigan, drinking scotch alone, believing I was a successful titan of industry. Meanwhile, the woman I had sworn to cherish had been working two teaching jobs, living in a small two-bedroom apartment, and carrying the crushing weight of our daughter's terminal diagnosis all by herself.
"She didn't tell you because she was trying to save them from a war, Ryan."
I turned around sharply.
Standing in the hallway corridor was Marcus—my personal security chief and closest friend since college. He held two warm cups of coffee, wearing his black wool trench coat dripping with rain.
"Marcus," I rasped out, taking one of the cups. "How did you find me?"
"Your driver saw you drop the ring in the hospital lobby bin and called my private line," Marcus said softly, looking through the glass window at Clara. "Jesus, Ryan... she looks just like your sister did at that age."
"She's sick, Marcus," I choked out, a hot tear finally burning down my nose. "She has leukemia. And Grace has been fighting this alone for months."
Marcus set a heavy, comforting hand on my shoulder. "I ran a quick background sweep on Grace's records over the last three years while I was driving over here."
I looked up, my eyes narrowing. "And?"
"Your mother's private security detail logged forty-two visits to Grace's apartment building in the first six months after your divorce," Marcus revealed, his voice dropping into a hard, dangerous register. "Eleanor had Grace followed. Your mother knew about the pregnancy, Ryan."
My blood ran completely cold.
The coffee cup in my hand crumpled under the sudden, violent grip of my fingers, scalding hot liquid spilling over my knuckles, but I felt no pain. Only a dark, suffocating rage that made my vision turn red.
"She knew?" I whispered, my voice dripping with lethal intent. "My mother knew I had triplets, and she kept it from me?"
"Not only did she keep it from you," Marcus continued grimly, "she actively blocked Grace's application for the teacher's union health insurance supplement two years ago. She tried to starve Grace out of Chicago so she would move back to her hometown in Iowa."
I turned back to the glass window, looking at Grace’s tired, beautiful face as she turned a page in the picture book for my son.
Grace hadn't just been exhausted during the final months of our marriage; she had been terrified. She had been fighting an invisible war against the Vance empire while her husband was busy attending corporate galas and taking long business trips to London.
"Marcus," I said, my voice dropping into an ice-cold tone that made my security chief straighten his spine.
"Sir?"
"Call my personal legal team. Tell Arthur Vance to draft a full, unconditional trust fund transferring fifty percent of my personal equity in Vance Enterprises into an irrevocable healthcare and education fund for Leo, Clara, and Nora."
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Marcus blinked in shock. "Ryan... that's over eighty million dollars. Your mother controls the board; she'll call an emergency executive session to strip your voting rights!"
"Let her try," I said, looking straight into the eyes of my little boy through the glass window. "My mother spent thirty-eight years teaching me how to run a ruthless empire. It's time she learned what happens when I turn that empire against her."
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