Chapter 43
Serena
I slid into the Bentley's back seat, and Vincent pulled away from the curb with smooth efficiency. The Vance estate disappeared behind us, and I felt something loosen in my chest—relief, maybe, or the aftermath of adrenaline finally wearing off.
"Well." Vincent's voice carried barely suppressed amusement. "That was quite the performance, Miss Vance. First your parents, then your ex-boyfriend. You certainly know how to make an exit."
I let out a breath that was half laugh, half exhausted sigh. "I have no idea what you're talking about. That was just a normal family visit."
"Of course." His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, twinkling with mirth. "Perfectly normal."
"At least I finally said what I've been thinking for years." I settled back against the leather, feeling the tension drain from my shoulders. "God, that felt good."
"I could tell." He navigated through traffic with practiced ease. "Where to, Miss Vance? Back to the office?"
"Please." I pulled out my phone, already mentally shifting gears from family drama to work. "I have the Grey Estate reports to finalize before—"
But a question had been nagging at me since that conversation with Patricia, since the coffee incident, since I'd first stumbled onto those fake invoices. I looked up from my phone.
"Vincent, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"How unstable is Lawson Capital right now?" The words came out in a rush. "I mean—there's Felix's embezzlement. And Patricia mentioned something about board politics. And you told me the Grey Estate presentation would be dangerous, that people would be watching me like vultures." I leaned forward slightly. "What exactly am I walking into?"
Vincent was quiet for a long moment, his expression shifting from amused to something more serious. Finally, he sighed.
"It's a long story, Miss Vance. But the short version is—family businesses are never simple. Especially not ones worth billions of dollars."
"I have time," I said. "We're still twenty minutes from the office."
"Very well." He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, his tone taking on the quality of someone recounting a well-worn tale. "Mr. Lance returned from abroad when he was twenty-four. Fresh out of Harvard Business School, though he'd already been managing investments since he was sixteen. The company was hemorrhaging money—bad acquisitions, worse management, and a board of directors more interested in maintaining their positions than actually running a profitable business."
I listened, fascinated despite myself.
"Within six months, he'd orchestrated a complete purge of the board. Replaced half the executive team. And with Arthur's support—" Vincent's voice took on a particular emphasis on that name, "—he removed his own uncle from the CEO position. Felix's father. Mr. Lance's father's brother."
"Jesus." The word escaped before I could stop it. "That's—that's a blood feud."
"Precisely." Vincent's smile was grim. "The company went from the brink of bankruptcy to record profits within two years. But the media?" He shook his head. "They called Mr. Lance ruthless. Cold-blooded. They painted him as a monster who'd betray his own blood for profit."
I thought about Lance—the way he'd protected me from Wesley, the careful distance he maintained from everyone, that armor of control he wore like a second skin. "But he saved the company."
"He did. And now he holds the largest share of voting stock. But Felix's family—Felix himself—holds the second largest block. And that's where things get... complicated."
Vincent merged onto the highway, his expression thoughtful. "Arthur Lawson hasn't updated his will in five years. He's eighty years old, and his inheritance includes a significant portion of company shares. And then there's Wesley's situation—his parents died when he was fourteen, leaving their shares in trust until he turns thirty. Mr. Lance is the trustee, but Wesley will eventually control those votes."
"So the company's future depends on—what? Who Arthur leaves his shares to? Whether Wesley sides with Lance or Felix?"
"Among other variables, yes." Vincent glanced at me in the mirror. "Mr. Lance has the operational control and the proven track record. But in family businesses, logic doesn't always prevail. Sentiment does. Legacy does. And Arthur has been... increasingly critical of Mr. Lance's personal life."
I frowned. "His personal life?"
"Specifically, his lack of a spouse." Vincent's tone was carefully neutral. "Arthur believes a married CEO projects stability. Inspires confidence. Shows commitment to legacy and succession." He paused. "He's been pressuring Mr. Lance to marry for years."
"That's medieval," I said flatly. "What does his relationship status have to do with running a company?"
"Nothing, in theory. Everything, in practice." Vincent shrugged. "Perception matters, Miss Vance. Especially when board members and major shareholders are deciding who to back in a power struggle. A married CEO with children looks like someone building a dynasty. A thirty-four-year-old bachelor looks like someone who might cash out and walk away."
I crossed my arms, irritation rising in my chest. "That's insane. Lance has dedicated his entire adult life to that company. He's brilliant. Successful. Why should he have to get married just to prove he's—"
I stopped abruptly, realizing how defensive I sounded.
Vincent's smile widened, but he had the grace not to comment directly. Instead, he said, "You're right, of course. It is insane. But that's the world Mr. Lance operates in."
We drove in silence for a moment. I stared out the window, watching Manhattan blur past, my mind churning through everything Vincent had just told me.
"Vincent," I said slowly, "why are you telling me all this? This is—this is sensitive information. Internal politics. Things I probably shouldn't know as a junior analyst."
His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, and something knowing flickered in his gaze.
"Because, Miss Vance, I've worked for Mr. Lance for ten years. I've seen him build this company from ruins. I've watched him sacrifice relationships, sleep, peace of mind—everything—to prove he wasn't the spoiled trust fund heir everyone assumed he was." He paused. "And in all those years, I've never seen him chase someone through an alley because he was worried about them."
Heat flooded my face. "That was—he was just—"
"I've never seen him personally arrange transportation for an employee," Vincent continued, implacable. "Or order custom clothing. Or inquire about someone's living situation. Or have meals delivered to their desk at midnight."
"He was just being—"