My Sister Attacked Me at My Baby Shower, Then My Mother Pulled Me Down—But Everyone Went Pale When They Looked Down the Hallway

It wasn't my mother who charged into the room. It was Julian Davies.

Julian was Rachel’s fiancé—a tall, impeccably groomed investment banker with slicked-back blonde hair, wearing a tailored three-piece suit that screamed old-money aspirations. For the past two years, Julian had looked through me as if I were a piece of cheap furniture whenever he visited the mansion.

Now, he looked frantic, his silk tie crooked and his face flushed a deep, blotchy red.

"Elena!" Julian gasped, barely acknowledging Arthur’s presence. "Thank God you're awake. You have to tell this madman to call off the sheriff! There are two police cruisers parked in the driveway of the estate! They are literally throwing Rachel’s luggage onto the lawn!"

I looked at him in disbelief. "Julian... what are you talking about?"

"The house!" Julian shouted, waving his hands wildly. "Rachel called me hysterical! She said some lunatic lawyer showed up claiming the house doesn't belong to Eleanor! I've already paid a fifty-thousand-dollar deposit for our wedding reception to be held on that terrace next spring! Our society circle—my business partners—everyone thinks I'm marrying into the Vance legacy!"

Arthur stood up from his chair. The contrast between Arthur’s calm, immovable presence and Julian’s frantic vanity was almost comical.

"Mr. Davies, I presume?" Arthur said smoothly.

"Who the hell are you to evict my future mother-in-law?" Julian demanded, puffing out his chest. "Do you have any idea who my father is? We will sue you into oblivion! You can't just throw a prominent family onto the street based on some fabricated paperwork!"

"The paperwork is fully authenticated by the Supreme Court of New York, Mr. Davies," Arthur replied, pulling a fresh document from his case. "And as for your future mother-in-law's 'prominence,' perhaps you'd like to inspect Eleanor Vance’s real balance sheet."

Arthur tossed a stapled packet onto the bedside table. Julian, unable to resist, snatched it up.

I watched Julian’s eyes scan the pages. With every second that passed, the color drained from his face until he looked as white as the hospital linens.

"This... this can't be right," Julian stammered, his fingers trembling against the paper. "Eleanor told me she held thirty percent of Vance Maritime Holdings. She told me the trust paid her six hundred thousand a year!"

"Eleanor Vance has been living off unauthorized loans secured against an estate that was legally frozen fifteen years ago," Arthur said with ruthless precision. "The total liabilities, including back taxes, forensic audit penalties, and criminal restitution, exceed fourteen million dollars. Rachel Vance has no trust fund. She has no inheritance. In fact, Rachel currently owes approximately one hundred and eighty thousand dollars in high-interest personal credit card debt, which her mother illegally co-signed using forged signatures."

Julian dropped the papers onto the floor. "She... she doesn't have any money?"

"She has less than zero," Arthur said coldly. "The only person in this family with an inheritance—the sole beneficiary of Vance Maritime, the estate, and Thomas Vance’s entire international portfolio—is the young woman lying in that bed."

Julian slowly turned his head to look at me.

For two years, Julian had mocked me behind my back. He had laughed when Rachel made me clean up the spilled drinks after their engagement party. He had refused to allow me to sit at the head table for Thanksgiving dinner because I "didn't dress appropriately for the family image."

Now, a nauseating, greasy smile crept across Julian’s lips. He took two hesitant steps toward my bed, his voice suddenly dripping with honeyed warmth.

"Elena... sweetheart," Julian whispered, extending a hand toward me. "I... I had no idea you were being treated so unfairly. I always told Rachel she was being too hard on you, didn't I? Look, if you're taking over the estate... we should talk. I'm a senior portfolio manager. I can help you manage these assets. We can protect each other."

The disgust that rose in my chest was so pure, so absolute, that it eclipsed all the pain in my body.

"Get out," I said.

Julian blinked, stunned. "Elena, be reasonable. You're a single mother. You're alone. You don't understand high finance—"

"I told you to get out," I repeated, my voice rising with a strength I didn't know I possessed. "Before I have Arthur call the hospital security to throw you into the dumpster where you belong."

Julian’s face twisted into an ugly sneer. "You're making a huge mistake, you little—"

Arthur stepped between Julian and my bed. He didn't raise his voice; he simply leaned in, his face inches from Julian’s. "If you do not remove yourself from this room within three seconds, Mr. Davies, I will ensure that the compliance department at your brokerage firm receives a detailed record of the insider trading tips Eleanor Vance fed you last November."

Julian went completely rigid. Without another word, he spun on his heel and fled the room so fast he nearly tripped over his own designer loafers.

Arthur looked back at me, a genuine grin spreading across his face. "Nicely done, Mrs. Vance."

"Arthur," I said, my heart pounding with fierce adrenaline. "I want to see my father. Take me to him."