The golden prince of Vance Development, the anointed heir, the son they had toasted at every dinner while I sat forgotten at the end of the table, reduced in a single morning to a breaking story on the news.

An hour later, my father made a brief and disastrous appearance on the steps of the building, flanked by his personal attorneys, and he looked broken, his charcoal suit hanging loose off his shoulders, his eyes hollow, as reporters screamed questions about shell companies and offshore accounts and the sudden freeze on the firm’s liquidity.

And when one reporter shouted whether his daughter, Chloe Vance, had been involved in the audit, my father closed his eyes, turned around, and walked back inside the building without a single word.

Chapter 16 — Seventeen Calls