Chapter 5 - The Corporate Brick Wall
-5-
Helen Vance was not a woman accustomed to being ignored. Armed with a landline phone and a stubbornness born of pure, unadulterated desperation, she had spent the better part of Tuesday morning dialing every corporate directory, human resources hotline, and executive assistant in the Midwest until she finally breached the outer defenses of Vance Global Holdings in downtown Chicago.
Marcus Vance—executive vice president of operations and no relation to our chaotic household, thankfully—sat at his mahogany desk on the thirtieth floor, rubbing his temples as his secretary buzzed him for the third time in ten minutes.
“Mr. Vance, I have a Mrs. Vance on line two,” his assistant’s voice crackled through the intercom. “She refuses to hang up. She’s demanding the personal mobile number and current whereabouts of Naomi Vance. She says it’s an absolute family emergency.”
Marcus sighed deeply. He had known Naomi for five years. She was one of the sharpest, most relentlessly competent asset managers he had ever poached from the financial sector. She was also notoriously private, never speaking of her family except for a brief, tightly jawed mention once about “managing an estate situation in the suburbs.”
When Naomi had walked into his office back in May and asked for an immediate, indefinite transfer to the London branch with zero notice, Marcus hadn't asked questions. He had simply signed the paperwork, knowing that keeping a talent like Naomi happy was worth ten times whatever administrative hoops he had to jump through.
He punched the flashing button on his desk phone.
“Mrs. Vance? This is Marcus Vance. I’m Naomi’s supervisor.”
Through the speakerphone, a breathless, frantic voice exploded into the quiet office.
“Mr. Vance! Thank God! You have to put me through to her immediately. It’s an emergency—a dire family emergency. Our house is facing foreclosure, the utilities are being shut off, and she has completely blocked all communication. As her mother, I demand to know where she is stationed!”
Marcus leaned back in his leather executive chair, steepling his fingers together. He kept his voice smooth, professional, and entirely devoid of warmth.
“Mrs. Vance, Naomi is currently serving as our senior director of European market integration based out of our London regional headquarters.”
A sharp gasp echoed on the other end of the line.
“London?!” Helen shrieked. “When did she move to London? She can’t be in London! Who is paying our bills? Who is managing the household?”
“That,” Marcus said, his tone dropping into a dry, clinical register, “sounds like a question for the adults living in your household, Mrs. Vance. Naomi is an independent corporate executive of this firm. Her personal finances, her residential status, and her travel itinerary are confidential company matters. Furthermore, she formally requested last month that all inquiries from her family be routed through corporate security as potential workplace harassment.”
“Harassment?!” Helen’s voice cracked into a jagged, hysterical screech. “I am her mother! I gave birth to her! She is legally obligated to—!”
“She is legally obligated to nothing, madam,” Marcus interrupted, his patience finally evaporating. “Naomi is a grown woman. If you or any other members of your household continue to tie up our corporate switchboards with hysterical demands for money, I will instruct our legal counsel to file a formal restraining order against you for corporate interference and harassment. Have a pleasant afternoon, Mrs. Vance.”
Click.
Marcus disconnected the call, shook his head in disgust, and immediately picked up his intercom to draft an email to corporate security instructing them to flag and block all incoming calls originating from area code 847.
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Meanwhile, four thousand miles away across the Atlantic, Naomi Vance sat in a glass-walled conference room in the City of London, calmly signing off on a twelve-million-dollar tech acquisition, completely unaware—and entirely unconcerned—that her mother was currently hyperventilating into a landline phone in an Oak Creek kitchen.
The severance was absolute. The wall was built. And the castle was falling down.
