Part 18: The Liquidation of the Vance Residuals
## Part 18: The Liquidation of the Vance Residuals
The legal office of Collins Maritime Logistics occupied the top three floors of the historical custom house by the Battery.
By 9:00 a.m. on Monday, the harbor was a sheet of deep blue glass, the sun throwing sharp streaks of light across my oak desk.
Evelyn laid a final stack of red-stamped documents onto the leather blotter.
"These are the residual asset files for the Vance family foundation, Madam Chairwoman," she said.
"The court has ordered the absolute liquidation of their remaining personal property to satisfy the federal tax penalties."
"The country club memberships in Aspen? Cancelled."
"The art collection Richard Vance kept in his Manhattan penthouse? Seized and cataloged for the public auction on Friday."
I adjusted Lily’s blanket as she slept in the bassinet beside my chair, her small hand curled tightly around a silver teething ring.
"What about Diane's personal accounts, Evelyn?" I asked, my voice flat and clinical.
"The boutique real estate firm she used to launder the default wires has been permanently dissolved," Evelyn reported.
"She has exactly forty-eight hours to vacate the luxury apartment in Bellevue before the county sheriff executes the physical lockout order."
"She tried to file an emergency appeal claiming the furniture was an independent gift from her late husband."
"The judge denied the motion without a hearing."
I stood up from my chair, walking over to the window that looked straight down at the private piers where the containers were being loaded onto our first electric cargo liner.
"She spent twelve years using my father’s company money to buy her presentation, Evelyn," I said softly.
"She can see what the presentation looks like without a floor plan."
The private intercom on my desk let out a low, electronic buzz.
It was Marcus down at the main entrance gate.
"Madam Chairwoman, we have a secondary legal representative from the Southern District precinct downstairs," he said.
"Brendan Vance has just refused his breakfast and demanded a final meeting with your estate counsel before his transfer to the federal penitentiary in Lewisburg."
"He claims he has a secondary set of paper ledgers his mother hid beneath the floorboards of the Greenwich house before the marshals arrived."
I smiled, a cold, tiny movement of my lips that had no warmth behind it.
"Tell the representative to save his paper, Marcus," I said.
May you like
"The staging team pulled those floorboards up three days ago."
"The folders are already inside my safe."
