They Chose The Fake Heir

Chapter 2

The air inside the Vance mansion felt heavy, suffocatingly quiet despite the frantic screaming echoing through Charles Vance’s phone.

"What do you mean, all funding has been pulled?!" Charles roared, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the desk. The gold fountain pen Ethan had left behind rolled to the floor, forgotten. "The Phantom Fund has backed our global logistics division for five years! They don’t just pull out over a lunch break! Find the manager! Find whoever is in charge!"

"I tried, Chairman!" the secretary’s voice was hysterical, competing with the sound of dozens of ringing phones in the background. "The fund’s legal team just sent over a hard liquidation notice. They aren't negotiating. They’re claiming a breach of contract based on a clause we signed years ago. And it’s not just them! The Swiss creditors just issued a margin call on your personal shares!"

Charles staggered back, his knees hitting his leather chair as he collapsed into it.

"Charles? What's happening?" Eleanor’s voice trembled. Her perfectly manicured hands gripped Julian’s arm so tight her nails dug into his expensive suit. "What do you mean we're ruined? We just brought Julian home. This is supposed to be our finest hour!"

Julian’s eyes narrowed slightly, a brief flash of genuine panic flickering across his face before he quickly masked it with a look of deep concern. The Phantom Fund? He knew that name. In the shadow training camps of the Murano Syndicate, the Phantom Fund was whispered about like a ghost story—an untraceable, multi-billion-dollar entity that dictated market trends from the dark. The Murano Syndicate had spent years trying to infiltrate it, yet it had been quietly keeping the Vance family afloat this whole time?

"Dad, don't panic," Julian said, stepping forward with an effortless, soothing confidence. "I’ve spent the last few years studying international market fluctuations. A sudden margin call is usually just a scare tactic from a rival trying to force a hostile takeover. If we consolidate our domestic assets and ask the Sterling family for a short-term bridge loan, we can stabilize the stock by morning."

Hearing Julian's calm analysis, Eleanor let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She turned to Veronica, her eyes pleading. "Of course! Veronica, darling, the Sterling family and the Vance family are practically one now. A four-hundred-million-dollar loan is pocket change for your father's conglomerate, isn't it?"

Veronica looked at Julian, her heart swelling with admiration. Compared to the silent, invisible Ethan who used to just cook her meals and stand in the corner like a shadow, Julian was a true leader. A man of action.

"I'll call my father right now," Veronica said, pulling out her diamond-encrusted phone. "He’s already preparing for our engagement gala tonight. He won't let his future son-in-law's company falter over a temporary liquidity glitch."

As Veronica stepped out of the room to make the call, Chloe laughed bitterly, tossing her hair. "See? This is exactly why we threw that loser Ethan out. If he were still here, he'd be shaking in his boots, crying about how we're going bankrupt. Julian hasn't even been in the house for twenty-four hours and he’s already saving the company."

Charles wiped a bead of cold sweat from his forehead, nodding slowly. Julian’s logic was sound. "You're right. You're a true Vance, Julian. You have the stomach for crisis."

Five minutes later, Veronica walked back into the room. The confident smile on her face had completely vanished. Her skin was pasty, and her hands were visibly shaking.

"Veronica?" Julian asked, his brow twitching. "What did your father say?"

"He... he said no," Veronica whispered, her voice cracking. "Actually, he didn't just say no. He was screaming. He said the Sterling Conglomerate’s prime lines of credit were abruptly frozen ten minutes ago by the International Mercantile Bank. He said... he said if he associates with the Vance family right now, the regulators will dismantle his company by tomorrow morning."

The room plunged into an icy, horrific silence.

"What?" Eleanor gasped, clutching her chest. "The Sterlings are being squeezed too? By who?!"

Veronica looked at Julian, her eyes wide with terror. "My father asked me if we did anything to anger 'The Ghost.' He said the order to freeze our assets came directly from the highest clearance level of the global financial grid. Charles... who did you anger?"

Charles couldn't answer. His phone rang again. This time, it wasn't his secretary. It was the Director of the National Banking Regulatory Bureau—a man Charles had paid millions in bribes over the years to keep his offshore accounts a secret.

"Charles," the Director’s voice was cold, completely stripped of their usual friendly familiarity. "I’m giving you a five-minute courtesy heads-up because of our history. Secure your personal belongings. A federal asset-seizure warrant has just been signed. The tactical financial crimes unit is already en route to your estate."

"Wait! Arthur, please!" Charles begged, slamming his fist on the desk. "On what grounds?! We haven't done anything!"

"An anonymous whistleblower just delivered an unencrypted, fully documented ledger of your last twelve years of tax evasion, illegal short-selling, and corporate espionage directly to the federal prosecutor's desk," the Director said flatly. "The evidence is absolute. Even the Supreme Court couldn't bury this. Goodbye, Charles."

The line went dead.

Charles's phone slipped from his hand, shattering against the hardwood floor. He looked up at his family, his eyes completely hollow. "They're coming to seize the house."

"No... No, this is impossible!" Chloe screamed, grabbing her designer handbag as if someone was about to rip it from her arms. "We are the Vances! We own this city! Who could possibly have that kind of leverage over us?!"

Julian stood perfectly still, his mind racing at a million miles per hour. A twelve-year ledger? Detailed unencrypted files? The Murano Syndicate had been trying to dig up that exact data for a decade and had always hit an impenetrable firewall. Whoever had this data had to have been living inside the Vance household, operating right under their noses.

Suddenly, a terrifying realization struck Julian.

The adopted son.

The boy who spent eighteen years hiding in his room. The boy who always volunteered to handle the estate’s secure network routing because "he liked playing video games." The boy they had just stripped of everything and thrown out into the rain ten minutes ago.

"Where is Ethan?" Julian asked, his voice suddenly sharp, losing all of its gentle, comforting cadence.

Eleanor blinked, confused by the sudden change in Julian's demeanor. "What? That trash? Who cares where he is? He's probably begging for scraps in the gutter by now."

"Think about it!" Julian snapped, dropping his facade entirely, his face darkening with rage. "Who had access to the mainframe? Who handled the family's private server maintenance for the last five years to 'save on IT costs'? Who was always awake in the dead of night?!"

Charles’s eyes widened. A memory flashed in his mind—Ethan sitting at the kitchen island, a cheap laptop open, quietly typing while Charles berated him for being a useless burden. 'I'm just balancing the household books, Father,' Ethan had said softly.

"No..." Charles whispered, his voice shaking violently as a cold, paralyzing dread gripped his heart. "No, it can't be him. He's an idiot. He flunked his business courses!"

"He didn't flunk them, Charles," Veronica said, her voice dropping to a horrified whisper as a memory of her own resurfaced. "He dropped them. He told me the curriculum was 'outdated.' I thought he was just making excuses for being lazy..."

Before anyone could say another word, the heavy oak doors of the Vance mansion were brutally kicked open. A dozen heavily armed federal agents poured into the foyer, their boots echoing like thunder against the marble floors Ethan had spent the entire night scrubbing.

A few miles away, inside the silent, purring cabin of the armored Maybach, Ethan sat with a glass of vintage scotch in his hand. The rain lashed against the tinted glass, but inside, the temperature was a perfect seventy-two degrees.

Across from him, Sebastian monitored three separate tablet screens, all displaying real-time financial data downfalls.

"The Vance Group stock has hit a circuit breaker, Young Master. Trading has been suspended," Sebastian reported, a small, satisfied smile playing on his old lips. "The Sterling Conglomerate has lost thirty percent of its market cap in the last seven minutes. And federal agents have just entered the Vance estate."

Ethan took a slow, deliberate sip of his drink. His expression remained entirely serene, like a grandmaster watching a perfectly executed opening gambit on a chessboard.

"Excellent," Ethan murmured. "Let the Murano Syndicate think they've won. Julian will try to step up and 'save' the remnants of the family using his syndicate's shadow funds. When he does, he will tie the Murano money directly to the Vance Group's seized assets."

Ethan turned his gaze to the window, watching the neon lights of the city blur past.

"I didn't just want to destroy the Vances for what they did to me," Ethan said softly, his eyes flashing with a terrifying, absolute coldness. "I wanted to draw out the rats who swapped me at birth. Tell our team to prepare the acquisition of the Horizon Group. It's time I take my seat at the top of this city—openly."

Sebastian bowed his head. "And your family, Young Master? When they realize it was you?"

Ethan smiled, a dark, dangerous curve of his lips. "They wanted a real son, Sebastian. Let them enjoy the one they chose."