Chapter 4 - Blood in the Water
The fresh air off the lake hit my face like cold water, shocking my lungs back to life.
Aunt Celia was waiting by the black town car near the circular fountain, her hands still shaking as she clutched her small leather handbag. When she saw Reid and me emerge from the grand entrance, she let out a long breath and opened the back door.
“Willa,” she whispered, pulling me into a fierce, brief hug. “Are you all right? Tell me the truth.”
“I’m fine, Aunt Celia,” I said, and to my surprise, I actually meant it. The tightness in my chest that had constricted my breathing for thirteen years had vanished. It had been replaced by a strange, crystalline clarity. “I really am.”
Reid stood a few paces back, giving us space. His phone was already pressed to his ear.
“Yes, Marcus,” Reid was saying quietly into the receiver. “Issue the press release immediately. Cite irreconcilable discovery of legal non-disclosure. Do not name Dr. Vance yet—I want her privacy protected until our litigation team secures the injunction against the Vance brokerage. Yes. Have the security detail clear the ballroom. Offer full compensation to the catering staff from my personal account. They shouldn't suffer because Blythe is a criminal.”
He hung up, slipping the phone into his pocket, and looked over at me.
“Dr. Vance, your aunt mentioned you drove in from the regional airport this morning. Where are you staying?”
“The Edgewater,” I said. “Just for the night. I have a nine o'clock flight back to Minneapolis tomorrow morning.”
Reid shook his head slightly. “You shouldn't stay there. Eleanor knows the manager at the Edgewater—she sits on the charity board with his wife. Within an hour, your mother will be banging on your hotel door with five different lawyers and a guilt trip designed to strip the paint off the walls.”
“He’s right, Willa,” Aunt Celia chimed in, looking nervously back toward the estate doors, where the first wave of bewildered wedding guests was beginning to trickle out into the parking courtyard. “Your mother doesn't know how to lose. When she realizes Richard is facing financial ruin, she will come after you like a starving dog. She thinks you owe her your life because she carried you.”
I looked at the grand facade of the estate. Through the tall arched windows of the second floor, I could see Eleanor pacing violently across a bridal suite, waving her arms while my father slumped in an armchair, his head buried in his hands.
“I don't owe her anything,” I said quietly. “Not anymore.”
“Then let my driver take you to the Sterling guest estate in Maple Bluff,” Reid offered. “It’s gated, private, and Arthur’s personal security controls the perimeter. You’ll have total peace until your flight tomorrow.”
I hesitated. I had spent thirteen years being fiercely, aggressively independent. I didn't take rides from strangers, I didn't accept favors from wealthy benefactors, and I certainly didn't get involved with men who had been standing at the altar with my sister forty minutes ago.
Reid seemed to read my mind. A faint, self-deprecating smile touched the corners of his mouth.
“I’m not trying to be your savior, Dr. Vance,” he said softly. “To be entirely blunt, I need your help. Tomorrow morning at eight, the Sterling Capital board is convening an emergency session to assess the damage from Blythe’s fraudulent filings. If you aren't there to establish the chain of custody for your research, they will freeze the patent entirely—which means your clinical trials in Minneapolis will lose their secondary funding phase.”
My stomach dropped.
“The pediatric trial?” I asked, my voice sharpening instantly. “The trial scheduled for next month?”
“Yes,” Reid said. “Blythe pledged the commercial development rights as collateral for her personal share. If the board locks the asset in probate litigation, those trials won't start for three years.”
Three years. Children with refractory lymphoblastic leukemia didn't have three months, let alone three years.
I looked at Reid. The wedding drama, the family spite, the petty resentments of Eleanor and Blythe—all of it suddenly shrank into absolute insignificance against the reality of what was at stake.
“Aunt Celia,” I said, turning to her. “Go home. Lock your doors, turn off your phone, and don't answer any calls from my parents.”
Celia nodded firmly. “God bless you, Willa. Finish what they started.”
I turned back to Reid Sterling, squaring my shoulders.
May you like
“Lead the way, Mr. Sterling. We have work to do.”
***