Chapter 4 - Panic Under the Palm Trees
Three thousand miles away, the morning sun broke across the golden sands of Wailea with dazzling clarity.
Julian Vance stood on the private terrace of their eight-thousand-dollar-a-night oceanfront suite, stretching his arms toward the sky.
He was forty-four years old, with silver-flecked dark hair, an expensive gym-sculpted physique, and a smile that had charmed investors for a decade.
He wore white linen trousers and an unbuttoned silk shirt, taking a deep breath of the fragrant, hibiscus-scented air.
Inside the suite, Chloe Bennett lounged across a king-sized canopy bed draped in Egyptian cotton.
She was twenty-eight, strikingly pretty, and completely consumed by the lifestyle Julian had lavished upon her over the past year.
"Julian, babe," Chloe called out, her voice still thick with sleep.
"Order the lobster frittata and another bottle of Dom Pérignon."
"My head is pounding from last night."
Julian chuckled, stepping back into the cool, air-conditioned suite.
"You drank half the bottle before we even made it to dinner, Chloe."
"Who cares?" she giggled, rolling over onto her stomach.
"We’re celebrating, aren't we?"
"You said your mother’s doctors told you she wouldn't last through the week."
"Once that massive Mercer Island estate clears probate, you’ll be the sole head of Vance Capital."
"We won't have to hide in Maui anymore."
A brief flicker of unease crossed Julian’s face, but he quickly masked it with a smug grin.
"Yes," Julian said, pouring himself a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.
"The old woman has had a good run."
"It’s time for the younger generation to take the reins."
"Did Nora call again while I was in the shower this morning?"
Chloe picked up her phone from the nightstand, checking the screen carelessly.
"Oh, yeah," she said, waving a manicured hand.
"She called like ten times."
"She was practically hysterical on the thirty-first call."
Julian froze, his glass hovering halfway to his mouth.
"Did you answer it?" he asked sharply.
"Of course I did," Chloe said, rolling her eyes.
"She wouldn't stop buzzing your phone, it was ruining the sound of the ocean."
"I told her to back off, that you were in the shower, and that we were enjoying our vacation."
Julian’s jaw tightened, and a wave of cold irritation washed over him.
"Chloe, you idiot!" Julian snapped, slamming his glass down onto the glass table.
"I specifically told you that Nora thinks I am at a tech summit in Chicago!"
"If she finds out I’m in Hawaii, she could cause a scene before the estate papers are executed!"
Chloe sat up in bed, her pout turning into an angry scowl.
"Why are you yelling at me?" she fired back.
"She’s just your pathetic, mousey wife who hasn't worked a real job in ten years."
"What is she going to do?"
"Besides, she said your mother was dying right then."
"She was probably just exaggerating to get you to fly home like she always does."
Julian’s heart skipped a beat.
*She said she was dying right then?*
He quickly grabbed his phone from the vanity table and unlocked the screen.
There were thirty missed calls from Nora.
Then, nothing.
No calls for the past four hours.
No angry texts.
No frantic voicemails.
Only absolute, deafening silence.
Julian knew Nora.
When Nora was upset, she sent paragraphs of emotional pleas, begging him to communicate, begging him to do the right thing.
Complete silence from Nora Vance was unnatural.
It was dangerous.
Julian immediately pressed Nora’s contact card and put the phone to his ear.
*“The number you have dialed is currently powered off or not reachable at this time.”*
Julian cursed under his breath.
He quickly dialed the main reception desk at Swedish Medical Center in Seattle.
"Hello, this is Julian Vance," he said in his most polished, authoritative voice.
"I need an immediate update on my mother, Eleanor Vance, in Room 412 ICU."
The receptionist paused.
"One moment, Mr. Vance, let me transfer you to the nursing station."
The hold music buzzed in his ear for two long, agonizing minutes.
Then, a soft, professional voice came on the line.
"Mr. Vance?"
"Yes, how is she?" Julian asked impatiently.
"Is she stable?"
"Mr. Vance, I’m so sorry... your mother passed away this morning at three-fifteen."
Julian felt the air rush out of his chest as if he had been struck with a sledgehammer.
"She... she passed away?"
"Yes, sir."
"Her daughter-in-law, Nora, was by her side until the end."
"The body has already been released to the funeral home as per the estate executor's instructions."
Julian lowered the phone, staring blankly at the ocean view.
Eleanor was dead.
The woman who had controlled the family fortune with an iron fist for forty years was finally gone.
A sudden, intoxicating rush of relief and greed surged through his veins, overriding any tiny sliver of grief he might have felt.
*It’s done,* he thought.
*The money is mine.*
*The house is mine.*
*The company is mine.*
"What did they say?" Chloe asked, watching him from the bed with hungry eyes.
"She’s gone," Julian said, a slow, predatory smile returning to his face.
"Pack your bags, Chloe."
"We’re flying back to Seattle on the next first-class flight."
"It's time to claim my inheritance."
Julian picked up the suite telephone and dialed room service.
"Send up two orders of the Royal Breakfast, and prepare the bill for Suite 800."
"We will be checking out immediately."
Twenty minutes later, the suite doorbell rang.
A uniformed waiter pushed a silver cart laden with exotic fruit, pastries, and eggs benedict into the room.
Behind him stood a man in an immaculate dark suit—the assistant general manager of the resort.
"Good morning, Mr. Vance," the manager said politely, but with an unmistakable edge of tension in his posture.
"I hope you enjoyed your stay with us."
"Everything was fine," Julian said dismissively, pulling his black American Express Centurion card from his designer wallet.
"Charge the entire balance and the checkout fee to this card."
The manager took the card and slid it through the portable terminal.
A sharp, high-pitched error beep echoed through the suite.
The manager tried again.
Another loud beep.
*TRANSACTION DECLINED: CONTACT ISSUING BANK.*
Julian frowned, feeling a prickle of annoyance.
"Run it again. Your machine is malfunctioning."
"I have tried three times, Mr. Vance," the manager said softly.
"The card has been hard-frozen by the corporate card issuer."
"Do you have an alternate method of payment for the sixteen-thousand-dollar balance?"
Julian’s face flushed red.
"That’s impossible. That card has a five-hundred-thousand-dollar limit."
He quickly pulled out his personal Visa Infinite card and handed it over.
The manager swiped it.
*TRANSACTION DECLINED: ACCOUNT FROZEN.*
Julian’s breath caught in his throat.
Both cards.
Frozen simultaneously.
Across the room, Chloe’s smile vanished, replaced by an expression of sharp, sudden terror.
"Julian?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
May you like
"What is happening?"
Julian stared at the red error screen on the terminal, and for the very first time in his pampered, arrogant life, a cold drop of sweat rolled down the back of his neck.
