Vance Hopper Novels & Stories

Chapter 21: The Father of All Lies The photograph was a Polaroid, yellowed at the edges and smelling of mountain air and ancient incense. It showed a man in his late sixties, dressed in the simple saffron robes of a Himalayan monk, standing against the backdrop of a jagged, snow-capped peak. His eyes possessed the unmistakable amber fire of a Vanderwall, but his hands—thick-knuckled and stained with deep-seated machine grease—were the hands of a Vance.

“Wyatt, can you hear me?” “Barely, where are you Remi?” “Some warehouse, I can’t tell much from it.. Something smells familiar. Someone…” “Who Remi?” “I remember now. His name is Chase, he asked to dance with me at my birthday. He’s in our pack, young—why would he do this?”

"You know what Daisy, I will leave the offer open to you…think of the whole lot of things you can do with twenty billion dollars." Wade Roberto's voice was laced with concern. "I mean…your Dad can be the founder and CEO of the great Hunter's Empire, but imagine the feeling of knowing that you turned a billionaire without Daddy's help." With that said, Wade Roberto dismissed Daisy Hunter. As she left, Wade Roberto crossed his legs on the mahogany and smirked. "Daisy Hunter will come around, I'm certain of it." He whispers to himself. Moments later…. Daisy Hunter is packing her bags to retire home.

He straightened his back, and forced a flawless, professional smile. His gaze remained on his. He was almost six feet three inches tall. He was still over half a head taller than him. He fulfilled all of his dreams. Vance’s heart was pounding. He made an effort to appear calm, but then he noticed that the guy was staring at Haley. Haley quietly welcomed him. "What a coincidence. You just finished, too?” Rhett raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Do you require transportation? If you want to accompany me—" Seeing his opening, Haley gave a swift nod. "That would be fantastic. Vance Perry is my closest friend. He was a runway model once. He now owns and operates a modeling agency.”

Three hundred of the most influential political figures, hedge fund titans, legacy families, and international press correspondents in the country were arriving for the annual Vance Anniversary Gala. I stood in front of the full-length gilded mirror inside the primary master suite dressing room, adjusting the dark silk bow tie of my custom tuxedo. For the first time in five years, the heavy, suffocating weight that usually settled into my shoulders before a massive corporate gathering was entirely absent. Marcus was currently sitting in a cold federal holding cell downtown, awaiting formal indictment for corporate espionage, passkey fraud, and federal wire violation. My father, Richard Vance