Chapter 5: The Man Who Wanted to Make a Deal
I stared at the message for a long time.
Then I called Diane.
"Thomas Vance just texted me directly," I said.
"He wants to talk.
He says Julian doesn't know."
A pause.
"Don't call him yet.
Forward me the message.
I want Grace to see it first."
I forwarded it.
Twenty minutes later, Diane called back.
"Grace says take the call.
But not alone.
Come back to the office tomorrow morning.
We'll set it up so the conversation is recorded and both of us are present."
"He said he wants to talk before this goes any further."
"That tells us he already knows about the injunction," Diane said.
"Which means he has a contact somewhere, or Julian told him.
Either way, he's worried.
Worried people make mistakes."
The next morning I sat in Diane's conference room with Grace beside me and Diane across the table.
My phone was on speaker.
A small digital recorder sat next to it.
I called Thomas Vance at nine a.m.
He picked up on the second ring.
"Elena." His voice was measured, careful.
A man used to controlling conversations.
"Thank you for calling."
"What do you want, Mr.
Vance?"
"I want to be honest with you.
What Julian did — the signatures, the collateral — I didn't know the full picture when I agreed to be involved.
He told me you were a silent partner and that the arrangement had your consent."
"That's not true."
"I understand that now." A pause.
"I have a family.
I have a business.
I'm not willing to go down for something I was misled into.
I'm prepared to cooperate fully — provide documents, communications, a full account of every conversation I had with Julian — in exchange for being removed from the criminal referral."
Grace was already writing on her pad.
She slid it toward me: *Ask him what documents he has.*
"What documents are you talking about?" I asked.
"Emails.
Text messages.
A recorded call from six months ago where Julian explicitly told me the loan was structured to drain the collateral before the lender could act.
He used the phrase 'clean exit.' He said you would never see it coming."
My jaw tightened.
Grace was still writing: *Ask about Vanessa.*
"What was Vanessa's role?" I asked.
A longer pause this time.
"She wasn't just his girlfriend," Vance said.
"The LLC — her name was on it because Julian needed a clean layer between himself and the money.
But she knew.
She was present for at least two of our planning conversations.
She signed the LLC registration herself."
Diane leaned forward slightly.
"Mr.
Vance," I said, "I'm going to be straightforward with you.
My attorneys are present and this call is being recorded.
If what you're saying is accurate and you're willing to provide everything you've described, that conversation needs to happen formally, through counsel.
Not over the phone with me."
A beat of silence.
"That's fair," he said.
"I expected that.
Have your attorney contact mine today.
I'll make sure he's available."
"One more question," I said.
"How long has Julian been planning this?"
The pause before his answer was the longest yet.
"He started talking about it," Vance said quietly, "about a month after your third salon opened."
I ended the call.
The room was very still.
"He's been planning this for years," I said.
"And he got comfortable," Grace said.
"Comfortable people leave evidence." She picked up the recorder and clicked it off.
"I'll contact Vance's attorney this afternoon.
If he delivers what he's promising, we won't need to go to trial.
Julian will have no ground left to stand on."
I nodded.
I looked out the window at the Capitol dome, pale and bright in the morning sun.
"How many days do we need?" I asked.
"To have everything in place?" Grace considered.
"Two.
Maybe three."
I checked the time.
Day three of five.
I had given Julian exactly the right number of days without knowing it.
I gathered my things and stood up.
Diane walked me to the elevator.
"Elena," she said, as the doors opened.
"Are you all right?"
I thought about it honestly.
"I will be," I said.
"Once he knows."
The elevator closed.
May you like
I rode down alone, watching the floor numbers drop, thinking about a man who had spent years calling my life's work a hobby while quietly building a plan to take it from me.
He had one day left to enjoy believing he had won.
