Chapter 13 - The Reading of the Will
Z
One month after Richard Vance’s death, the final administrative ceremony of his life took place in a windowless conference room on the sixteenth floor of a high-rise building in downtown Columbus.
It was the formal reading of his Last Will and Testament.
Normally, under a standard protection order, named beneficiaries are represented solely by legal counsel to avoid direct contact. But because Eleanor Vance was currently serving a ninety-day sentence for misdemeanor probation violation and court contempt, and Vanessa had no legal representation after her personal attorney withdrew due to unpaid fees, the probate court ordered a brief, highly supervised session.
I sat at the end of the long mahogany table, flanked by Melissa Grant and Daniel. Julian sat next to me, his arms crossed over his chest, his face calm and composed.
On the opposite side of the table sat Vanessa. She wore a plain black dress, her face sunken, her hands resting motionless in her lap. Eleanor was absent, represented by a court-appointed public defender who looked like he wished he were anywhere else in the world.
At the head of the table sat Mr. Harold Stern, a veteran probate attorney who had been assigned by the court to oversee the liquidation of Richard’s insolvent estate.
Mr. Stern cleared his throat, adjusted his reading glasses, and opened the thick leather folder in front of him.
"We are here for the reading of the Last Will and Testament of Richard Arthur Vance, executed in June of 2024," Mr. Stern announced in a dry, monotonous tone. "Before I read the document, I must inform all parties that the estate of Mr. Vance is currently subject to multiple primary tax liens from the Internal Revenue Service, as well as outstanding restitution judgments stemming from the Franklin County Trust Fraud proceeding."
Vanessa shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her eyes darting nervously toward Mr. Stern. She was still holding out a desperate, delusional hope that Dad had somehow hidden a secret account, an insurance policy, or a asset cache that would pull her out of bankruptcy.
"Clause One," Mr. Stern read. "To my wife, Eleanor Vance, I leave my interest in our joint personal effects, subject to existing bank claims."
"Clause Two: To my daughter, Vanessa Vance..." Mr. Stern paused, glancing up over his glasses at my sister.
Vanessa leaned forward, her knuckles turning white against the mahogany wood. "What is it?" she whispered frantically. "What did he leave me?"
Mr. Stern resumed reading. "'To my daughter, Vanessa, I leave my primary ownership shares in Vance & Associates Boutique Holdings, along with all associated corporate debts, lease obligations, and personal guarantees attached thereto.'"
Vanessa’s face went entirely white. "Debts?! He left me his debts?!"
"The commercial entity carries a net negative value of $340,000," Mr. Stern explained emotionlessly. "As the named corporate successor in his will, you have thirty days to formally renounce the inheritance, or those liabilities will merge with your ongoing bankruptcy estate."
Vanessa let out a strangled, breathless cry, dropping her head into her hands.
"Clause Three," Mr. Stern continued, turning his gaze toward Julian and me. "'To my daughter, Maya Vance, and my son, Julian Vance... I acknowledge that during my lifetime, I committed grave errors in judgment regarding the administration of the Vance Family Trust. I leave to them my sincere request for forgiveness, along with the remaining unencumbered personal archives of my father, Arthur Vance.'"
Silence settled over the room.
Julian didn't flinch. I didn't sigh. We both knew the truth: Richard had nothing left to give because everything he had ever owned was built on credit, theft, and the exploitation of his children. His "empire" was a hollow house of cards that collapsed the moment I pulled out my single support card.
"Are there any life insurance policies?" Vanessa sobbed, looking up with red, desperate eyes. "There has to be a policy! He had a two-million-dollar policy with Northwestern Mutual!"
"That policy lapsed eighteen months ago, Ms. Vance," Mr. Stern replied calmly. "The premium payments were missed when the automatic transfers from your sister's account were canceled."
Vanessa turned her head slowly to look at me. Her gaze wasn't filled with rage anymore. It was filled with a terrifying, hollow awe—the realization that every single comfort, luxury, and safety net she had enjoyed for her entire adult life had existed solely because I had allowed it. When I withdrew my grace, her entire world ceased to exist.
"Maya..." Vanessa whispered, her voice trembling violently. "Please... I have nowhere to go. My lease ends next week. I can't pay the security deposit on a new apartment. Mom is in jail. Dad is dead. You have everything... please, Maya... give me a loan. Just five thousand dollars. I’ll pay you back... I swear I’ll pay you back..."
I looked at my sister—the woman who had screamed at a traumatized six-year-old child that she was an un-picked orphan.
I slowly stood up from my chair, buttoned my blazer, and gathered my leather folder. I looked down at her with neither malice nor pity, but with the utter indifference one feels toward a stranger on the street.
May you like
"My money is for real family, Vanessa," I said quietly. "And as you told Lily... family has to make hard choices."
I turned on my heel, took Daniel's arm, and walked out of the conference room, leaving my sister sobbing alone in the cold, unfeeling light of her father's empty legacy.
