The Second Life of Arthur Vance

Part 1: The Living Will

Chapter 1: The Vultures

The silence in the master suite of the Vance Estate was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic hissing of the oxygen machine.

I, Arthur Vance, lay in the center of the massive four-poster bed, feeling less like a man and more like a withered leaf waiting for a stiff breeze to blow me away. I was seventy-two. I was worth four billion dollars. And I was dying.

The doctors called it “idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis.” A fancy way of saying my lungs were turning to stone. They gave me three months. That was two months ago.

Outside the heavy oak doors, I could hear them. The vultures.

My nephew, Charles, and his wife, Linda. They were staying in the guest wing, ostensibly to “care” for me, but really to ensure I didn’t change my will in a morphine-induced haze. They spoke in hushed whispers that carried through the cracks.

“Is he gone yet?” Linda would ask every morning. “Soon,” Charles would reply, the anticipation dripping from his voice like venom. “The lawyer said the trust executes immediately upon death.”

I closed my eyes. I had built an empire of steel and shipping. I had crushed competitors. I had dined with presidents. But I had failed to build a family. My wife died ten years ago. My son died in a skiing accident when he was twenty. Charles was all I had left, and Charles was a parasite.

The door creaked open.

It wasn’t Charles. It was the maid.

Her name was Maya. She was young, maybe twenty-two. She had been hired through an agency a month ago when the previous nurse quit because Linda was too abusive.

Maya walked in carrying a tray. She moved softly, respecting the silence.

“Mr. Vance?” she whispered. “I brought you some soup. It’s homemade. Chicken and ginger.”

“I’m not hungry,” I rasped, waving a weak hand.

“It will help with the breathing,” she said gently, setting the tray down. She didn’t leave. She adjusted my pillows. She opened the curtains just an inch to let in a sliver of golden afternoon light.

“How are you feeling today?” she asked.

“Like a corpse that hasn’t been buried yet,” I grumbled.

Maya smiled. It was a real smile, not the obsequious grimace of someone wanting a tip. “Well, you’re still talking, so you’re not a corpse yet. Eat the soup, Arthur. Please.”

She called me Arthur. Not “Sir.” Not “Mr. Vance.” I had asked her to. It made me feel human.

I let her feed me. The soup was warm, spicy, and soothing.

“Why are you here, Maya?” I asked between spoonfuls. “You could be working anywhere. My nephew treats you like dirt.”

“I need the job,” she said simply. “And… I like this house. It has good bones. It’s just sad.”

“Like its owner,” I muttered.

“You’re not sad,” she corrected. “You’re lonely. There’s a difference.”

She wiped my mouth with a napkin. Her touch was gentle. It reminded me of my wife.

“Charles yelled at you this morning,” I said. “I heard him.”

“He was upset that his coffee wasn’t hot enough,” Maya shrugged. “He’s a man who needs small things to be perfect because he can’t control the big things.”

I chuckled. It turned into a cough, but it was a laugh. “You’re smart, Maya.”

“I read a lot,” she said.

She picked up the book on my nightstand. The Count of Monte Cristo.

“You’re reading this?” she asked.

“Re-reading. For the tenth time.”

“It’s about patience,” she said. “And justice.”

“It’s about revenge,” I corrected.

“Maybe they are the same thing,” she said.

She sat by my bed and read to me for an hour. Her voice was melodic, calming. For the first time in weeks, the crushing weight on my chest lightened.

Chapter 2: The Incident

Two days later, the incident happened.

I was having a bad day. The coughing was relentless. I couldn’t catch my breath. I rang the bell for help.

Charles burst in. He wasn’t alone. He was with his lawyer.

“Uncle Arthur!” Charles boomed, ignoring my distress. “Good news. We found a buyer for the shipping division. We just need your signature on the power of attorney to finalize the negotiation.”

“I… can’t… breathe,” I gasped.

“It will just take a second,” Charles shoved a pen into my hand. “Sign here. It secures the legacy.”

“He needs oxygen!” Maya ran into the room. She pushed Charles aside. She adjusted the flow on the tank. She held the mask to my face.

“Get out of the way, you stupid girl!” Charles shouted. “We are doing business!”

“He is dying!” Maya screamed back. “Get out!”

Charles grabbed Maya by the arm. He threw her against the wall.

“Don’t you touch me!” Charles roared. “You are fired! Get your things and get out!”

I watched, helpless, as my nephew assaulted the only person who cared if I lived or died.

The rage that filled me was colder than the grave.

“Let… her… go,” I wheezed.

Charles looked at me. He saw the fury in my eyes, but he dismissed it. I was a dying old man. What could I do?

“She leaves now,” Charles said, straightening his jacket. “And you are signing this, Arthur. Or I stop paying the electric bill for the machines.”

He threatened my life. His own uncle.

Maya stood up. She wasn’t crying. She looked fierce.

“I’ll leave,” she said. “But not because you fired me. Because I’m going to call the police.”

“Go ahead,” Charles laughed. “Who will they believe? The billionaire heir or the maid?”

Maya looked at me. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I can’t stay.”

She walked out.

Charles smiled at me. “See? Much better. Now, sign.”

I closed my eyes. I didn’t sign. I feigned unconsciousness.

Charles cursed and left the room, slamming the door.

I lay there in the dark. I realized I had made a mistake. I had waited too long to die. I had let the weeds choke the garden.

But I wasn’t dead yet.

I reached for the phone hidden under my mattress—the one Charles didn’t know about.

I dialed a number.

“Henderson,” I rasped. “Get here. Now. Bring the notary. And bring security.”

Chapter 3: The Proposal

Henderson, my lawyer for forty years, arrived an hour later with two armed guards. He entered through the service entrance, bypassing Charles.

“Arthur,” Henderson said, looking at my state. “My God.”

“I don’t have much time, James,” I said. “I need to make a change.”

“The will?”

“Bigger than the will,” I said. “I need you to find Maya. The maid. She left an hour ago. She lives in the city. Find her. Bring her back.”

“The maid? Arthur, why?”

“Just do it.”

It took two hours. Maya was brought back to the estate by my security team. She looked terrified, thinking she was in trouble.

When she walked into my room and saw Henderson and the guards, she froze.

“Maya,” I said. My voice was stronger. Rage is a potent fuel.

“Arthur?” she stepped closer. “Are you okay?”

“No,” I said. “I am surrounded by sharks. And I need a lifeguard.”

I looked at Henderson.

“I want to adopt her,” I said.

The room went silent.

“Excuse me?” Henderson dropped his pen.

“You heard me. Adult adoption. It’s legal in this state. I checked.”

“Arthur,” Henderson stammered. “She’s… she’s twenty-two. You’ve known her a month.”

“She’s the only person in this house who didn’t try to kill me today,” I said.

I looked at Maya. She was stunned, her mouth open.

“Maya,” I said. “I have no children. I have a fortune that is about to go to a man who assaulted you and threatened to unplug my oxygen. I cannot let that happen.”

“But… adoption?” Maya whispered. “Mr. Vance, I… I have parents. Well, I had parents. They died.”

“Then you need a father,” I said. “And I need a daughter. A heir.”

“I don’t want your money,” she said instantly.

“I know,” I smiled. “That’s why you’re the only one who can have it.”

I reached out my hand.

“If I adopt you, you become my next of kin. You have the medical power of attorney. You can kick Charles out. You can save me, Maya. Not my life—that’s gone. But my dignity. My legacy.”

Maya looked at me. She saw the desperation. She saw the truth.

“He hurt you,” she said.

“He will kill me if he stays,” I admitted.

Maya’s eyes hardened. She looked at Henderson.

“Where do I sign?”

Chapter 4: The New Heir

The paperwork was drawn up that night. Expedited. Emergency filing.

At 8:00 AM the next morning, the judge signed the order via video conference (a favor Henderson called in).

Maya Vance. My daughter.

At 9:00 AM, Charles walked into my room with a cup of coffee and the unsigned power of attorney.

“Morning, Uncle,” he said cheerfully. “Ready to sign?”

He stopped.

Maya was sitting in the chair by the window. She was wearing one of my late wife’s cardigans. She was drinking tea.

“What is she doing here?” Charles shouted. “I fired her! Security!”

“Security is here,” I said.

The two armed guards stepped out from the bathroom.

“What is this?” Charles backed away.

“This,” I said, “is my daughter.”

Charles laughed nervously. “Daughter? You’re delusional. The meds have rotted your brain.”

Henderson stepped forward. He handed Charles a document.

“It’s official, Charles. Maya is Arthur’s legally adopted daughter. And as his next of kin, she has assumed control of his medical care and his estate, effective immediately.”

Charles read the paper. His face turned purple.

“This is fraud! Coercion! She’s a gold digger!”

“She is family,” I said.

Maya stood up. She walked over to Charles. She wasn’t the scared maid anymore. She was the lady of the house.

“Charles,” she said calmly. “Pack your bags.”

“You can’t tell me what to do!”

“I can,” she said. “I just revoked your guest privileges. You and Linda have one hour to vacate the premises. If you are not gone, the guards will remove you.”

“I’ll sue!” Charles screamed. “I’ll contest the will!”

“There is no will anymore,” Henderson said. “Arthur is alive. And his assets are now in a joint trust with his daughter.”

Charles looked at me. “You old fool. You gave everything to a stranger?”

“I gave it to someone who knows how to make soup,” I said.

Charles lunged at me. The guards intercepted him, pinning him to the floor.

“Get him out,” Maya commanded.

They dragged him out. Linda followed, screaming obscenities.

The door closed.

The silence returned. But this time, it wasn’t heavy. It was peaceful.

Maya walked to the bed. She sat down. She took my hand.

“They’re gone, Dad,” she whispered.

“Dad.” The word felt strange. Wonderful.

I closed my eyes. I felt tired. So tired.

“Thank you,” I said. “Now I can rest.”

I thought this was the end. I thought I had played my final card, secured my legacy, and could now drift away into the dark.

I was wrong.

Chapter 5: The Second Chance

I didn’t die.

A week passed. Then two.

Maya didn’t just sit by my bed. She took charge.

She fired my doctor—a man Charles had hired who seemed content to just drug me. She hired a specialist from Switzerland.

“He’s not dying of fibrosis,” the new doctor, Dr. Weber, said after reviewing my charts.

“What?” I asked, weak but awake.

“Your lungs are scarred,” Dr. Weber said. “But the acute failure… it’s toxic. You’ve been poisoned, Arthur.”

“Poisoned?” Maya gasped.

“Arsenic,” Dr. Weber said. “Low doses. Over months. It mimics respiratory failure. Who was managing your food?”

I looked at the door where Charles used to come in.

“My nephew,” I whispered.

“We stopped the exposure when he left,” Maya said, realizing. “That’s why he’s stabilizing.”

“He’s weak,” Dr. Weber said. “But the damage isn’t irreversible. With chelation therapy and proper care… he could live another ten years.”

I stared at the ceiling.

Ten years.

I wasn’t dying. I was being murdered. And Maya… Maya hadn’t just saved my legacy. She had saved my life.

I looked at her. She was crying happy tears.

“You’re going to live,” she said.

“I don’t know how,” I admitted. “I don’t know how to live anymore. I’ve been dying for so long.”

“We’ll figure it out,” she smiled. “We’ll start over.”

And we did.

End of Part 1