Chapter 2 - The Suite In SoHo
Fifty miles south, Grant Bennett stepped out of the luxury shower in a penthouse suite overlooking the slushy streets of Manhattan.
The air smelled of expensive gardenia perfume, champagne, and cedar smoke from the designer fireplace. Brooke Mercer was curled on the white leather sofa, holding a crystal glass of Pinot Noir and scrolling through her phone.
"Did she cause a scene?" Brooke asked, tossing her hair over one bare shoulder.
"No," Grant said, buttoning a fresh linen shirt. "Claire doesn't cause scenes. She just gets cold."
"Good. Because you promised me this weekend would be about us, Grant. I'm sick of playing second fiddle to a woman who looks at me like I'm a warehouse clerk."
"You run scheduling for our biggest maritime fleet, Brooke. Don't be dramatic," Grant replied, pouring himself two fingers of scotch.
Still, a faint knot of unease tightened in his gut, nagging at his conscience. Claire’s quiet smile before he walked out the door had been completely wrong.
Usually, a betrayed wife yelled, cried, or threw things across the kitchen.
Claire had simply wished him a Merry Christmas with empty, slate-gray eyes. She hadn't even asked what time he would be home for Ethan's unwrapping.
"Stop thinking about her," Brooke purred, stepping behind him and running her hands across his shoulders.
"I bought you something special. Open it."
She handed him a velvet box containing a Swiss timepiece with an engraved case back reading Our Time Begins Tonight.
Grant looked at the gleaming gold and felt an inexplicable pang of sickness rather than pride. He had spent fourteen thousand dollars on her corporate card this month alone, yet seeing his life packaged this way felt cheap.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand at 11:45 PM.
It was a text from his uncle Howard: Where are you? Did you sign the waterfront lease renewal before leaving the office?
Grant frowned and typed back: I left it on my desk. Why are you calling me on Christmas Eve?
Howard didn't text back; he called immediately, his voice gravelly and panicked.
"Grant, our primary lender just flagged a seven-figure margin call on the terminal accounts. The automated system rejected your signature override."
"That's impossible," Grant snapped, walking away from Brooke toward the balcony window.
May you like
"I have sole executive signing authority under the Bennett family charter."
"You did until forty minutes ago," Howard spat. "Someone just uploaded an emergency probate decree from your late father-in-law's estate. The whole port facility just went into administrative escrow."
