Chapter 11 - The Enemy of My Enemy
Z
The leather armchair in Richard Vance’s high-rise office was soft, but I sat on the very edge of it, my spine straight as a rod. Through the floor-to-ceiling glass behind him, the city stretched out like a grid of light and concrete—cold, vast, and entirely unfeeling.
Sitting next to me, Cole looked completely out of place in his dark denim jacket, his inked knuckles resting on his knees. Leo was asleep on the office sofa across from us, wrapped in my coat, his chest rising and falling in deep, peaceful rhythms.
Richard Vance smoothed his silk tie, his keen grey eyes scanning the documents spread across his polished oak desk. He was a man in his late fifties, with sharp features and hair silvered perfectly at the temples. He was my father’s go-to legal mercenary—the man who tore families apart for sport and ensured wealthy men kept their fortunes intact.
"Let me get this straight," Vance said, setting down his gold pen with a soft click. "Your father paid my retainer three weeks ago so I could handle your divorce from Mr. Reed here."
"Yes," I said smoothly.
"And now, you walk into my office—husband in tow, carrying a child—and ask me to use that exact same retainer to fight an eighty-million-dollar corporate media dynasty for custody?"
"That's right," I replied without a single tremor in my voice. "The contract my father signed stated that your firm would represent me in all legal matters concerning my family status and marital affairs. Technically, protecting my home and my legal rights as Leo's guardian falls right under that umbrella."
Vance leaned back, a slow, appreciative grin spreading across his face. It wasn't a kind smile—it was the look of a predator recognizing another predator's cunning.
"Your father called me twenty minutes ago, Maya," Vance said dryly. "He explicitly instructed me to reject your case and let the Sterling family take the boy. He thinks that if you lose the child, you'll come crawling back to him for financial help."
Cole’s hand tightened into a fist on his knee, but he kept his mouth shut, trusting me to play this hand.
"My father is paying you to win, Mr. Vance," I said, leaning forward. "He prides himself on never losing a legal battle. But if you walk away from this, the Sterling Media Group wins by default. If you take this case and beat Victoria Sterling in open court, your firm's reputation soars to a level my father’s money could never buy you. You’ll be the attorney who stripped an eighty-million-dollar corporation of an heir to protect a dying mother's wish."
Vance stared at me for three long seconds. The silence in the office was razor-thin. Then, he let out a sharp, genuine laugh that echoed off the glass walls.
"You really are Arthur's daughter," Vance murmured, shaking his head. "Hard as nails when you're pushed into a corner."
He pulled a fresh legal pad toward himself and uncapped his pen.
"Victoria Sterling is a shark, but she made a fatal mistake," Vance continued, his eyes gleefully glinting with tactical malice. "She served you an emergency temporary custody order based on Julian Sterling's lineage. But Julian Sterling legally severed all ties with his family when he was eighteen. He legally changed his name to Julian Vance-Cross, executed a adult emancipation decree, and signed a binding waiver renouncing all claims to the Sterling Estate."
Cole sat up straight, his dark eyes widening. "Wait... Julian renounced the family name?"
"He didn't just renounce it; he buried it," Vance said, tapping the pad. "I represented the Sterling family's rival firm ten years ago. I know their dirty laundry better than their own board of directors. The reason Victoria Sterling wants that boy isn't out of family pride or sudden grand-maternal love. Julian was the last male in the direct bloodline. According to old Arthur Sterling's original trust agreement, if Julian died without a legal heir residing under the Sterling roof, forty percent of the company's voting shares revert to an independent charitable foundation."
The puzzle pieces snapped together with horrifying, brilliant clarity.
"They don't care about Leo," I whispered, the nausea settling deep in my stomach. "They need Leo in their house so they can maintain voting control over the media empire."
"Precisely," Vance smirked. "Leo isn't a grandson to them. He's a forty-percent voting block wrapped in a snowsuit. And in seventy-two hours, I am going to walk into Judge Miller's courtroom and make Victoria Sterling regret she ever stepped foot on your porch."
He looked over at Cole, his grin fading into a sharp, professional stare. "Mr. Reed, your past is going to be dragged through the mud. They will call you an ex-rocker, a former addict, an unfit guardian. They will air every night you spent in a dive bar or a booking cell ten years ago. Are you ready for that?"
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Cole looked across the room at little Leo, sleeping peacefully under my coat. Then he looked at me, taking my hand and locking his fingers tightly into mine.
"Let them bring everything they've got," Cole said, his voice deep and unshakable. "I spent my whole life running from who I used to be. I'm not running anymore."
