Chapter 45 - The Charleston Summons
By dawn, the sea chest sat opened between Vance and me inside our rented cottage on Wilmington Island. Inside lay thick parchment ledgers, stamped with the wax seal of the South Carolina Maritime Registry, dated nearly four decades prior.
Madison was preparing Chloe’s morning bottle while Vance poured over the ledgers under the desk lamp. His jaw was set in that hard, calculating line I had come to rely on during our darkest hours.
"It’s not just land or gold, Rachel," Vance said, turning a brittle page. "Arthur Sinclair owned forty percent of the deep-water docking berths stretching from Savannah to Charleston Harbor. When he vanished, Victor's family—the Sterling syndicate—falsified his death certificates and buried the probate records in the Charleston Chancery Court."
"Which means Victor’s claim to our marital assets was fraudulent from the very beginning," I realized, a cold surge of fury washing through me. "When I carried Chloe into that divorce courtroom with nothing but her diaper bag and twenty dollars to my name, he wasn't just trying to strip me of my dignity. He was trying to eliminate the legal successor to his entire empire."
A sharp rap on the front screen door broke our conversation.
Vance drew his sidearm instantly, gesturing for Madison to take Chloe into the adjoining bedroom. He moved silently to the side of the doorframe, peered through the frosted glass, and frowned.
"A courier," Vance whispered. "Federal express process server."
Vance cracked the door open just enough to receive the manila envelope, signing with a false surname. When he returned to the dining table and tore the seal, a heavy cream card fell out, bearing the embossed crest of the Charleston Supreme Probate Registry.
*To Rachel Sinclair-Sterling,* the document read in elegant calligraphy. *Take notice that an extraordinary emergency probate hearing has been convened at the historic Charleston County Courthouse regarding the testamentary distribution of the Sinclair Maritime Trust. Your physical appearance is mandated at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, failing which all assets shall default irrevocably to the presiding trustee: Julian Sterling.*
"Julian Sterling," I read aloud, my voice shaking. "Victor’s uncle. The patriarch of the entire clan."
"He’s playing his final hand," Vance said, tossing the envelope onto the table. "With Victor behind federal bars and the European accounts seized by Interpol, Julian is attempting to harvest Arthur’s original trust before the Department of Justice unseals the Zurich files."
"If we don't go, he gets everything," Madison called out from the doorway, her voice trembling. "He gets Chloe’s inheritance, and he uses those billions to buy Victor out of prison."
I looked down at Chloe, sleeping peacefully against Madison's chest, her tiny fingers curled around a blanket.
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"Then we go to Charleston," I said, meeting Vance’s fierce, unwavering gaze. "I carried my baby into divorce court when I was broken and alone. I’m not afraid to carry her into Julian Sterling’s den when I have the truth on my side."
***
