Chapter 7: The Subpoena
The morning sun filtered through the cheap venetian blinds of Marcus Vance’s downtown office, casting sharp, dusty lines across a desk buried under mounds of legal briefs, empty Styrofoam cups, and crumpled yellow legal pads. Marcus didn't look like a high-priced corporate litigator, and his office smelled permanently of stale roast coffee and damp paper. But as he slid a fresh, thick sheaf of formal court documents across the desk toward me, his eyes burned with the sharp, calculated intensity of a man who loved nothing more than dismantling arrogant opponents.
“We’ve filed it,” Marcus said, leaning back in his creaking leather chair and crossing his arms. “Emergency motion for temporary sole custody, an immediate freeze on all Vance Foundation assets pending a federal audit, and a formal subpoena compelling Julian to produce every internal communication regarding the phantom payroll accounts.”
I picked up the top document, my fingers tracing the bold black lettering of the court header. The Superior Court of the State—Case No. 2024-CV-8841. Beneath it, the petitioner’s name stood out in stark, undeniable relief: Elena Vance.
“How long before it’s served?” I asked, my voice steady, though a nervous flutter danced deep in my stomach.
“Our process server handed the papers to Julian’s lead corporate counsel at Vance Enterprises less than twenty minutes ago,” Marcus said, checking his silver wristwatch with a grim, tight smile. “By now, Julian has likely cleared his desk of anything not nailed down, and his blood pressure is probably hitting stroke levels. He’s never had anyone push back against him in open court. He expects everyone to fold.”
As if on cue, my phone—lying face up on the edge of the desk—buzzed violently against the wooden surface. The screen lit up with an unsaved caller ID, a local direct line originating from the executive suites of Vance Enterprises.
I stared at the screen, the glowing numbers feeling like a physical weight pressing down on my chest. I remembered every threatening phone call, every quiet, venomous warning hissed in the dark hallway of our estate, every moment I had shrunk away from his anger out of fear for Lily’s safety.
“Answer it,” Marcus said quietly, his voice firm and reassuring. “Put it on speaker. I want everything on record.”
I pressed my thumb against the screen, sliding it to accept the call, and placed the phone flat on the desk between us.
For three seconds, there was only dead air—the heavy, suffocating silence of a man gathering his fury. Then Julian’s voice came through the speaker, tight, trembling with a suppressed rage that sounded dangerously close to unravelling.
“You think you’re clever, Elena,” Julian hissed, his words clipped and venomous. “You think a few stolen papers and a desperate lawsuit are going to destroy what I’ve built? I will bury you so deep in legal fees you won’t even be able to afford a bus ticket out of this city.”
I didn't flinch. I leaned forward, resting my hands flat on the desk, looking directly into the receiver as if he were standing right across from me.
“You built your empire on lies, Julian,” I said, my tone ice-cold and utterly fearless. “And every single paper trail leads straight back to your desk. You wanted a war? You have one. See you in front of the judge.”
May you like
I tapped the screen, ending the call before he could hurl another threat. The room fell silent again, save for the hum of the old fluorescent light overhead. Marcus looked at me for a long, measuring moment, a slow, appreciative smile finally breaking across his weathered face.
“Well,” Marcus said, picking up his pen. “I’d say the honeymoon phase of our litigation is officially over.”
