Chapter 6 - The Fall of the House of Vance
Two days later, the trap snapped shut.
I was sitting in Marcus’s office at the shelter, eating lunch with Eli, when Sarah Lin called my phone.
"Turn on the local news, Clara," Sarah said, sounding immensely satisfied. "Channel 8."
Marcus quickly turned on the small television mounted on the wall. The screen cut away from a commercial to a breaking news banner: PROMINENT SUMMERLIN REAL ESTATE MOGUL ARRESTED FOR CHILD ENDANGERMENT.
The live broadcast showed a camera crew standing outside my parents' gated community in Summerlin. Two Las Vegas Metropolitan Police cruisers were parked in the driveway of their sprawling Mediterranean-style mansion. The camera zoomed in as the front door opened.
My father, Arthur Vance, was led out in handcuffs. He was wearing an expensive silk polo shirt, but his hair was disheveled, and his face was bright red with fury. He was shouting at the officers, trying to block his face from the cameras. Behind him came my mother. Eleanor’s flawless lipstick was gone, replaced by a pale, terrified expression as a female officer guided her toward a separate police car.
"The Nye County Sheriff's Department, in coordination with Metro Police, executed a felony arrest warrant this afternoon," the news anchor reported. "Sources state that Arthur and Eleanor Vance allegedly abandoned their adult daughter and six-year-old grandson on a remote stretch of Highway 95 earlier this week. Authorities state they possess high-definition surveillance footage confirming the incident."
Eli looked up from his coloring book, staring at the screen. "Mom? Is that Grandma and Grandpa?"
"Yes, sweetie," I said, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him into my lap. "They’re going away for a while. They can’t hurt us anymore."
But Sarah wasn't finished. Because of the emergency civil suit she had filed, a judge had granted an immediate temporary injunction, freezing my parents' personal and commercial bank accounts to prevent them from hiding assets or using their wealth to easily post a massive bail. They were stuck in a standard county holding cell, experiencing the cold reality of a system they thought they were entirely above.
That evening, I received a frantic call from my parents' corporate attorney, a man named Henderson who had always treated me like a nuisance during family gatherings.
"Clara, we need to settle this immediately," Henderson said, his voice strained. "Your father's business is imploding. The board is moving to remove him. Your mother is hysterical. They are willing to return your $14,200 immediately, plus an additional fifty thousand if you drop the civil charges and sign a non-disclosure agreement."
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I looked out the window of the shelter, watching the neon lights of Las Vegas flicker to life against the darkening desert sky.
"Tell them no," I said. "We are going to trial."
