Chapter 3 - The Watchmaker's Ledger
Twenty-four hours later, the rain was pouring over Charlotte in heavy, relentless sheets. Inside Ethan’s penthouse office at Sterling Tower, the room was dimly lit except for the glowing monitors spread across his glass desk.
Marcus stood beside a high-definition screen displaying a digitized blueprint of a luxury watch, complete with intricate gears, jewel bearings, and a distinct crest etched into the titanium casing.
"It took three calls to Geneva and a quiet transfer to a private vault in Zurich," Marcus began, his voice grim. "The watch on Claire's wrist is the Vacheron Constantin Celestial Sovereign. It was crafted six years ago."
"Who commissioned it?" Ethan asked, leaning forward with his hands clasped beneath his chin.
"Arthur Vance," Marcus said. "Founder and majority shareholder of Vance International Enterprise—a twelve-billion-dollar energy and logistics empire headquartered in New York."
Ethan’s eyes narrowed. "Arthur Vance died four years ago."
"He did," Marcus confirmed, pressing a key on his tablet. The screen shifted to display a dramatic news article with bold headlines: TRAGEDY AT SEA: VANCE YACHT EXPLODES OFF MIAMI COAST; HEIRESS PRESUMED DEAD.
"Arthur Vance had one child," Marcus continued. "His daughter, Eleanor Vance. Four years ago, Arthur and Eleanor were aboard their private yacht when an explosion ripped through the engine room. Arthur’s body was recovered two days later. Eleanor’s body was never found. The coast guard concluded she was killed in the blast or consumed by the water. Six months later, her uncle—Arthur’s younger brother, Victor Vance—had her legally declared dead and assumed full control of Vance International."
Ethan stared at the photograph of Eleanor Vance attached to the official report.
The woman in the photo was dressed in a stunning navy-blue silk gown, standing alongside world leaders at a global summit. Her hair was styled in dark waves, her skin was flawless, and her smile was radiant. But the eyes—the piercing, calm brown eyes—were unmistakably the eyes of the woman who had smashed through a shattered car window to save his daughter.
"Claire isn't a broke stranger," Ethan whispered, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. "Claire is Eleanor Vance. The heiress to a twelve-billion-dollar empire."
"She’s a ghost," Marcus added. "If she reveals she’s alive, Victor Vance loses everything—his control, his money, his power. Which raises the obvious question: Was that yacht explosion four years ago really an accident?"
"No," Ethan said coldly. "It was an assassination attempt. She survived, went off the grid, and spent four years living as a ghost just to stay alive."
Suddenly, Marcus’s phone buzzed sharply in his hand. He looked down at the encrypted alert, and his relaxed posture snapped into immediate military readiness.
"Ethan, we have a problem."
"What is it?"
"My team was keeping a passive surveillance perimeter around her studio apartment building on 4th Street," Marcus said, rapidly pulling up a live video feed on his tablet. "Two black SUVs just pulled up into the alleyway behind her building. Four men stepped out. They're wearing tactical jackets and carrying concealed sidearms."
Ethan stood up so fast his leather chair crashed against the glass wall behind him. "Is she inside?"
May you like
"Yes. Her light just went on five minutes ago."
"Call local law enforcement, get our tactical team on the move, and get the car ready," Ethan barked, grabbing his coat. "If Victor Vance found out she's alive, she has less than ten minutes before they silence her for good."
