Chapter 5 - The Card in the Cream Envelope
"Is there a Wyatt Thorne here?" the volunteer asked, her eyes scanning the quiet waiting room.
Wyatt immediately stepped forward. "I’m Wyatt."
"A gentleman left this for you at the main information desk about ten minutes ago," the woman said, handing him the heavy envelope. "He asked me to make sure it reached you personally before Miss Vance was taken into the operating theater."
"What gentleman?" Detective Beckett interrupted, instantly stepping up beside Wyatt, his hand resting instinctively near his belt. "Can you describe him?"
"He was an older man," the volunteer recalled, pressing her lips together as she searched her memory. "Very elegant. Impeccably dressed in a vintage dark suit, walking with a silver-topped cane. He looked quite shaken, to be honest. He didn't stay long—just handed me this, said it was a matter of life and death for Sadie, and stepped into a black car waiting at the curb."
Wyatt looked down at the envelope. His name was written across the front in exquisite, sweeping copperplate calligraphy using black ink.
He flipped the envelope over and broke the thick red wax seal stamping the back flap. Inside lay a single, crisp business card made of heavy, textured vellum paper.
Wyatt turned the card over. Embossed in gold lettering across the front were the words:
SAMUEL GRAYSON, ESQ.
Senior Partner, Grayson, Vance & Sterling Estate Law
100 Financial Plaza, Suite 2200
Wyatt’s breath caught in his throat. Vance. The name of the law firm contained my family’s surname.
He slowly flipped the card over to inspect the reverse side. Written in frantic, trembling black fountain pen ink were six handwritten words that sent an icy chill straight down his spine:
"Ask about your grandfather’s final will."
Wyatt handed the card directly to Detective Beckett. The detective stared at the embossed gold lettering, his brow furrowing deeper with every passing second.
"Samuel Grayson..." Beckett muttered under his breath. "That’s one of the most prominent estate attorneys in the state. He doesn't do criminal law. Why is he dropping off notes at an ER trauma bay?"
"My grandfather," Wyatt said, his mind racing to connect the pieces of a puzzle he hadn't even known existed. "Sadie’s grandfather was Arthur Vance. He was the founder of Vance Logistics—the company that built the family’s wealth thirty years ago. He passed away three years ago... right around the time Sadie and I started dating."
"Did Arthur Vance leave an estate?" Beckett asked.
"As far as Sadie ever told me, Arthur died suddenly of a stroke, and his entire estate—the house on Elm Avenue, the investments, the trust funds—passed directly to his only son, Richard. My father-in-law," Wyatt explained, his voice growing sharper as the realization hit him. "Sadie never saw a dime. She was told Arthur’s will left everything to Richard to keep the family holdings intact."
Beckett pulled out his phone, rapidly dialing a number on his speed dial. "I'm calling the precinct. I want a research unit to pull every probate filing, every deed transfer, and every corporate filing associated with Arthur Vance, Richard Vance, and Grayson, Vance & Sterling over the last five years."
The double doors of the surgical suite swung open again, and Dr. Hart stepped out, fully dressed in blue surgical scrubs, a surgical cap covering her silver hair.
May you like
"Mr. Thorne," Dr. Hart said, her voice crisp and professional. "We’re ready to begin Sadie’s procedure. The surgical team is in place. You have thirty seconds to say goodbye before we take her in."
Wyatt pocketed the business card, turned away from the detective, and pushed through the doors into the holding bay.
