Chapter 4 - Ryan Vance’s Awakening
Two hours earlier, in the presidential suite of the St. Regis Hotel, Ryan Vance had been staring into a crystal tumbler of Scotch, feeling like the king of the world.
The room smelled of expensive lilies and fine tobacco. Across the mahogany table, Isabella Sterling—or the woman he believed to be Isabella Sterling—had just closed a leather briefcase.
“So, Ryan,” she had purred, her voice dripping with European sophistication as she adjusted her diamond-encrusted Cartier watch. “Once the merger documents are countersigned by my family’s trust in Geneva, you will be appointed Chief Executive of our North American logistics division. A starting compensation package of four million, plus five percent carried interest.”
Ryan’s chest had swelled with unbearable pride. He had looked at his watch.
*2:45 PM.*
His wedding to Maya was scheduled for 2:00 PM at St. Bartholomew’s.
His phone had buzzed in his pocket four times. Maya’s name had flashed across the screen, followed by three panicked texts from Danielle. He had simply flipped the phone face-down on the table.
*She’ll understand,* he had told himself, taking a smug sip of the thirty-year-old single malt. *Once I hand her the keys to an apartment in Tribeca and a black Amex, she’ll forget all about a delayed ceremony. She’s an ICU nurse. She should be grateful I’m pulling her out of that dirty hospital.*
His mother, Margaret, had texted him twenty minutes prior: *Everything is handled, darling. The little bird is singing her last song. Make sure the Sterling girl signs the agreement.*
“To the future,” Ryan had said, raising his glass toward Isabella.
Isabella hadn’t raised hers.
Instead, she had looked at her watch, smiled a cool, razor-sharp smile, and stood up from the table.
“Indeed, Mr. Vance. To the future,” she had said. Her European accent had vanished entirely, replaced by the crisp, flat vowels of a Manhattan corporate attorney.
Ryan had blinked, lowering his glass. “Isabella? What about the Geneva signatures?”
“There is no Geneva trust, Ryan,” she had said, snapping the locks on her briefcase. From the inside pocket of her blazer, she had pulled out a manila envelope and dropped it onto the glass table.
“What is this?” Ryan had asked, a sudden chill creeping down his spine.
“That is your official notice of immediate termination from Titan Corporation for gross negligence and violation of company fiduciary policies,” she said evenly. “My name is Isabella Cruz. I am Julian Thorne’s Director of Acquisitions. And you, Mr. Vance, have just spent the last three weeks failing the most expensive character evaluation in Titan history.”
Ryan had laughed, a nervous, jagged sound that died in his throat when he saw the look in her eyes. “This is a joke. Julian sent you? Why the hell would Julian send you to mess with me? Today is my wedding day!”
“Julian knows,” Isabella said, walking toward the door. “He’s at your wedding right now, Ryan. Though from what I understand, he’s no longer just a guest.”
“What does that mean?!” Ryan had roared, lunging out of his chair, the Scotch spilling across the mahogany table. “What does that mean, Isabella?!”
She had paused at the suite door, looking back at him with pure, unadulterated pity.
“It means your mother gave away the bride, Ryan. And your boss took her.”
The door had clicked shut behind her.
Ryan had stood frozen in the middle of the suite, the silence roaring in his ears.
Then his phone had started ringing violently.
The rest of the afternoon had become a waking nightmare.
His mother’s hysterical screams over the phone had barely made sense. *“He took her! Julian took her! The police dragged me out! Ryan, they took my bag! The reporters are outside!”*
Then came the call with Julian himself. Hearing his CEO’s calm, terrifying voice coming from Maya’s phone had shattered what little sanity Ryan had left.
Now, at six o’clock in the evening, Ryan stood outside the gated entrance of the 74th Street townhouse.
His tie was undone, his hair disheveled, sweat soaking through the collar of his bespoke tuxedo shirt. The street was swarming with paparazzi. Two television news vans from local networks were parked across the street, their satellite dishes raised toward the gray sky.
“Mr. Vance! Did you intentionally abandon your fiancée at the altar?!”
“Ryan! Can you confirm Titan Corporation has frozen your accounts?!”
“Is it true Julian Thorne married your bride?!”
Ryan pushed past the flashing cameras, shielding his face with his coat, slamming the wrought-iron gate shut behind him. He sprinted up the brownstone steps, jammed his key into the lock, and burst into the foyer.
The townhouse smelled of stale perfume and burnt toast.
Margaret was sitting on the velvet sofa in the parlor, an ice pack pressed to her forehead, her mascara running down her wrinkled cheeks in dark, ugly streaks. Her sequined silver dress lay in a torn heap on the floor; she was wearing an old silk dressing gown that looked frayed at the cuffs.
“You!” Margaret shrieked, jumping to her feet the moment she saw him. “Where were you?! Why weren't you there to stop him?!”
“Where was I?!” Ryan screamed back, throwing his leather briefcase against the wall with such force that a porcelain vase rattled on the mantelpiece. “I was at the St. Regis being played like a damn fiddle because of you! You told me Isabella Sterling was the real deal! You told me her family owned shipping lines in Rotterdam!”
“She showed me the bank statements!” Margaret wailed, clutching her chest. “She took me to lunch at the Carlyle! She wore a four-carat pink sapphire!”
“She was Julian’s employee!” Ryan roared, gripping his hair in both hands, pacing the Persian rug like a caged animal. “Julian set the whole thing up! He baited us, Mother! And you... you poured wine on Maya’s dress?! In front of four hundred people?! Have you lost your goddamn mind?!”
“She’s a nobody!” Margaret shouted back, her voice shrill with desperation. “She was supposed to crawl away! Any normal girl from Queens would have run out of that church crying! How was I supposed to know Julian Thorne was sitting in the fifth row waiting to play white knight?!”
“Because Julian Thorne doesn't do anything by accident!” Ryan dropped onto the sofa, burying his face in his hands. His body shook with a mixture of rage and terror. “My access badge is canceled. My company card was declined when I tried to pay the cab driver outside. Mother... the offshore account. Did you move the six hundred thousand yet?”
Margaret went completely still.
The ice pack slipped from her fingers, landing with a soft thud on the rug.
Ryan slowly raised his head, staring at his mother. The blood drained from his face until he looked like a corpse.
“Mother?” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Tell me the money is in the Cayman account.”
“Ryan...” Margaret swallowed, her throat clicking dryly. “The broker called at four o’clock. Titan Corporation filed an emergency ex-parte injunction with the Southern District Court. All accounts linked to my social security number... they’ve been frozen pending a forensic audit.”
Ryan stared at her, the room tilting violently around him.
“Frozen?”
“Everything,” Margaret whimpered, tears spilling over her cheeks again. “The checking account. The trust. The mortgage payments for this house... Ryan, the foreclosure notice was taped to the door an hour ago. We have ten days.”
Ryan fell back against the cushions, staring up at the plaster ceiling medallion.
His mind flashed back to Maya.
Maya, who used to rub his shoulders after a bad day at the office. Maya, who had stayed up until 3:00 AM helping him format his executive presentations. Maya, who had looked at him with those warm, honest brown eyes and told him she didn't care if they lived in a small apartment as long as they were together.
He had thrown her away for an illusion.
And now, she was sitting in a fifty-million-dollar penthouse on Fifth Avenue, wearing a diamond that could have bought this entire brownstone twice over, wrapped in the arms of the most powerful man in New York.
“No,” Ryan whispered, his teeth grinding together as a toxic, desperate resolve began to form in his chest. “No, this isn't over. Maya loves me. She’s an emotional girl. She only did this to hurt me. She took Julian’s hand because she was angry.”
Margaret looked at him, her eyes wide with frantic hope. “You think so?”
“I know so,” Ryan said, standing up, his eyes bloodshot and wild. “Eighteen months don't disappear in an afternoon. She’s scared. Julian is using her to punish me, and once she realizes that, she’ll come back. She has to.”
He walked over to the hallway mirror, roughly straightening his collar.
“Tomorrow night is the Titan Shareholder Gala at the Plaza,” Ryan said, his voice trembling with manic energy. “Julian thinks he’s won. He thinks he can parade my woman around Wall Street like a trophy.”
“Ryan, you don't have an invitation anymore,” Margaret warned, clutching her dressing gown. “They’ll have security.”
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“I don't need an invitation,” Ryan sneered, his hands shaking as he buttoned his coat. “I’m still legally an executive until the board votes on Monday. I have an all-access security pass on my phone that doesn't expire until midnight tomorrow. I’m going to that gala. And I’m bringing Maya home.”
***
