Chapter 9 - The Perfect Daughter
Camille Vance arrived at the police station wearing cream trousers, pearls and an expression of carefully measured concern.
She hugged Arthur.
She hugged Marcus.
She attempted to hug me.
I stepped back.
Her arms dropped.
“Ximena.”
“Camille.”
She looked at Eleanor through the interview-room glass.
“I can’t believe Mom did this.”
I watched her closely.
“Did what?”
“All of it.”
“That covers a lot.”
Camille gave a sad smile.
“This isn’t the time.”
It was exactly the time.
Arthur asked her about Northbridge.
She frowned.
“Dad, I barely know what that is.”
Rachel had warned me that good liars often denied less than expected.
They admitted familiarity while minimizing importance.
I looked at Camille.
“Rachel Sloan says you helped establish several Northbridge entities.”
Camille blinked.
“Rachel?”
“Yes.”
“She was unstable.”
“Interesting. Marcus said the same thing.”
Marcus looked away.
Camille continued.
“I signed some documents for Mom years ago. I didn’t know what they were.”
Eleanor, still being questioned, could not contradict her.
Convenient.
I asked, “Did you gamble?”
Camille laughed.
“Excuse me?”
“Marcus said Northbridge lost millions paying your gambling debts.”
Her face changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
She turned toward Marcus.
“You told her that?”
Marcus said nothing.
Camille’s voice hardened.
“You pathetic idiot.”
Arthur stared at her.
“Is it true?”
“No.”
She turned back to me.
“I had investments that performed poorly.”
“Private card games are investments?”
She looked at me.
Dennis had not actually said private card games.
Marcus had.
Camille realized she had stepped into it.
Arthur did too.
“Camille.”
She sighed.
“Fine. Years ago, I gambled.”
“How much?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Millions?”
“No.”
Marcus finally spoke.
“Yes.”
Camille spun around.
“You should be very careful.”
The room went silent.
Marcus laughed bitterly.
“Why? You’re going to ruin my life?”
He spread his arms.
“Look around.”
Camille stared at him.
Something passed between them.
A history.
A threat.
Then Marcus said, “Tell Dad where the money went.”
Arthur’s voice sharpened.
“What money?”
Camille smiled.
“I don’t know what he means.”
Marcus stepped closer.
“The Singapore account.”
For the first time, Camille looked afraid.
That was enough.
Arthur whispered, “What Singapore account?”
Marcus laughed.
“Oh, she didn’t tell you?”
Camille hissed, “Marcus.”
“Seven point two million dollars.”
My heart jumped.
Arthur gripped the back of a chair.
“Where did you get seven million dollars?”
Marcus pointed toward Camille.
“Northbridge.”
She slapped him.
Hard.
Everyone froze.
Marcus touched his cheek.
Then laughed.
“There she is.”
Arthur shouted, “Enough!”
Camille looked around.
Her perfect composure was gone.
“I moved money because Mom was being blackmailed.”
Eleanor had indeed been paying Dennis.
But seven million?
“Dennis demanded that much?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Camille looked at me.
“This has nothing to do with you.”
I almost smiled.
“Millions of dollars stolen from my accounts traveled through Northbridge. It has everything to do with me.”
She turned toward Arthur.
“Dad, make her stop.”
He stared at his daughter.
“I spent twenty-two years protecting this family from a mistake.”
His voice trembled.
“I will not spend another hour protecting crimes.”
Camille’s face hardened.
“You think you protected us?”
Arthur flinched.
“You protected yourself.”
“That isn’t true.”
“You were terrified of scandal.”
Arthur said nothing.
Camille laughed.
“You taught us everything we know.”
He recoiled as if she had struck him too.
For the first time, I understood the Vance family clearly.
Arthur had buried one secret to preserve the family.
Eleanor had built an empire beneath it.
Marcus learned that dishonesty was acceptable if it solved an immediate problem.
Camille learned something darker.
If reputation mattered more than truth, reputation could become a weapon.
A detective entered.
“We need to speak with Mrs. Camille Vance-Hart.”
Camille looked at him.
“About?”
“A financial fraud investigation.”
Her husband, Thomas Hart, arrived forty minutes later.
He was normally polished and reserved.
That afternoon, he looked furious.
“What did you do?”
Camille’s expression collapsed.
“Thomas—”
“No.”
He held up his phone.
“Our accounts are frozen.”
Arthur stared at him.
“Your accounts?”
“Federal investigators contacted my company.”
Camille rushed toward him.
“I can explain.”
Thomas stepped away.
“Apparently, my signature is on two companies I’ve never heard of.”
I recognized the pattern immediately.
Forged authorizations.
Same as mine.
Camille had not only used her mother and brother.
She had used her husband.
Thomas looked at me.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
He believed me.
Camille saw that.
Her expression became venomous.
“You.”
I almost laughed.
“Me?”
“None of this would be happening if you hadn’t gone digging.”
There it was again.
The Vance family doctrine.
The sin was not deception.
The sin was discovery.
Arthur whispered, “Camille, stop.”
She ignored him.
“You had everything.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“My brother adored you. My mother tolerated you. Dad respected you.”
She laughed.
“And still it wasn’t enough.”
“I wanted my money not to be stolen.”
“You always have more.”
That sentence revealed everything.
Not need.
Entitlement.
In Camille’s mind, my success justified her theft.
“You think because I have money, you can take it.”
“You don’t know what it’s like.”
“To what?”
“To grow up with a name everyone expects you to maintain.”
I stared at her.
“You had an estate. Private schools. vacations.”
“And expectations.”
“That is not poverty.”
Her face twisted.
“You built stores. Congratulations.”
She stepped closer.
“I had to preserve a dynasty.”
Arthur whispered, “There is no dynasty.”
Camille turned.
“There was.”
Then she looked at me.
“Until she came.”
I understood.
Eleanor had disliked me because I worked for what I had.
Camille hated me because my existence exposed how little of their status they had actually earned.
The detective escorted Camille away.
Thomas did not follow her.
That night, Marcus appeared outside my temporary apartment.
Security refused entry.
He called.
I answered from upstairs.
“What?”
“Camille is going to blame me.”
“Maybe because you’re involved.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I’m tired of hearing that.”
“She moved the seven million.”
“To Singapore?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try again.”
Marcus became silent.
Then he said, “Because she was planning to leave.”
“Leave what?”
“The country.”
“With whose money?”
“Everyone’s.”
A cold realization formed.
“Did Camille know I was investigating?”
“Not at first.”
“And later?”
“She found out the night you followed Mom.”
“How?”
“Mom called her.”
I stared out the window.
The fire.
The threats.
The surveillance.
Dennis had admitted some of it.
But perhaps not all.
“Marcus.”
“Yes?”
“Did Camille hire Blackstone?”
Silence.
My stomach dropped.
“You know she did.”
“I suspect.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was trying to protect her.”
“Of course you were.”
“Ximena—”
I disconnected.
At 11:07 p.m., Priya called.
“We found the Singapore account.”
“How much?”
“Not seven million.”
My pulse quickened.
“How much?”
“Fourteen point eight.”
I sat down.
“Where did the rest come from?”
“That’s why I’m calling.”
She paused.
“Ximena, someone liquidated a trust in your name six months ago.”
“I don’t have a trust.”
“You do.”
“What?”
“It was created when you married Marcus.”
“By whom?”
May you like
Priya swallowed.
“Arthur.”
