Chapter Seven: The Countermove
Harold Vance died six weeks later.
The funeral was small. Private. Eleanor sat in the front row, alone.
Vivian sat with Damon.
She didn’t speak to her mother.
The church was old. Stained glass. Wooden pews. The smell of incense and grief.
Damon wore black. Vivian wore black. They held hands through the service.
Eleanor’s eyes kept sliding toward them.
Cold. Accusing.
She blamed Damon for everything. For the investigation. For the estrangement. For the truth.
The reading of the will was held at Spencer & Associates.
Conference room. Mahogany table. Leather chairs. The same room where Damon had signed the prenup five years ago.
Eleanor was there. Two of Vivian’s brothers. And Gerald Spencer himself, the family attorney.
Damon brought David and Maria Chen.
“This is a family matter,” Gerald said, looking at them. His glasses were thick. His suit was expensive. His voice was oily. “Your presence isn’t necessary.”
“Everything about my marriage is my business,” Damon replied. “And I have legal counsel present. You have yours. It’s only fair.”
Gerald’s jaw tightened.
The will was read.
Harold had left Vivian approximately fifteen million in company stock and assets. But the document included a clause: any spouse of a beneficiary must sign a waiver of claims, or the inheritance would be placed in a trust controlled by Eleanor.
Damon looked at Vivian.
She didn’t blink.
“I’m not signing anything,” she said.
Eleanor’s face went red.
“Vivian. Be reasonable.”
“I am being reasonable. I’m protecting my marriage. Something you never did.”
Gerald cleared his throat. “If you refuse to sign, the assets will be held in trust until your mother approves their release. That could be years.”
“Then sue me,” Vivian said.
She stood up.
Damon stood with her.
“We’ll see you in court.”
They walked out together.
In the elevator, Vivian started shaking.
Damon put his arm around her.
“That was brave,” he said.
“That was terrifying.”
“I know.”
She leaned into him.
“I’ve never stood up to her like that before. Not once in thirty-four years.”
“How does it feel?”
She was quiet for a moment.
The elevator doors opened to the lobby.
“Terrifying,” she said again. “And also… free.”
They walked out into the Chicago sun.
