Chapter 4 - Forty-Eight Hours of Arrogance
While life and death hung in the balance at the hospital, the weekend at Evelyn Vance’s lakeside estate on Mercer Island was a spectacle of vanity.
Ryan stood on the broad mahogany terrace overlooking Lake Washington, swirling an eighteen-year-old single malt scotch in a crystal glass. Around him, high-society guests and corporate board members laughed at his jokes.
Evelyn Vance, draped in tailored silk and diamonds, walked over and patted her son’s cheek fondly.
"You made the right decision leaving that little mouse at home, Ryan," Evelyn announced proudly. "A woman who creates drama during family celebrations has no place among influential people. She would have embarrassed us in front of the Senator."
"She’s always looking for attention, Mother," Ryan sneered with a smug chuckle. "She thought she could force me to skip your sixty-fifth birthday and spend the night sitting on a plastic chair in a public hospital waiting room. I taught her a much-needed lesson in authority."
"Precisely," Evelyn smiled. "Once the baby arrives, we will hire a full-time English nanny to raise the child properly. Claire can stay in the guest room and manage her little hobbies, while you take full control of Crestline’s global expansion."
Ryan smiled smugly into his drink. What he had hidden from everyone was that every single line of proprietary code that made Crestline Systems a multi-million-dollar defense contractor had been written by Claire. When they married four years earlier, Ryan had convinced Claire to step back from active public military roles and assign him managing director rights, promising he would handle the corporate logistics while she developed the technology.
Over the last forty-eight hours, Ryan had kept his phone silenced, enjoying his sense of power. Whenever hospital notifications flashed across his screen, he dismissed them without a glance, assuming Claire was sending frantic apologies begging for him to return.
On Sunday afternoon, after two days of lavish brunches, boat rides, and toasts, Ryan decided it was time to make his grand return home.
"I suppose I should go inspect my new daughter," Ryan laughed to his Chief Operating Officer, Derek. "I’ll let Claire apologize for her little tantrum on Friday, take a few promotional photos with the newborn for the corporate newsletter, and solidify my place as chairman."
"You run a tight ship, Ryan," Derek laughed, raising his mimosa. "Show her who is boss."
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Ryan climbed into his black Porsche Cayenne. Driving along the winding, tree-lined roads toward Crestview Terrace, he rehearsed his condescending lecture: ‘Claire, I hope this weekend taught you humility...’
He had no clue that his forty-eight hours of arrogance were about to collide with the crushing hammer of military justice.
