Chapter 2 - The Paper Trail
The law offices of Harrison & Sterling occupied the forty-second floor of the Prudential Plaza, overlooking the frozen grey water of Lake Michigan.
Arthur Harrison had been my late father’s closest friend and personal attorney for three decades.
When he saw the ultrasound scan lying on his mahogany desk beside a printed copy of Vincent’s restaurant surveillance still, the older man took off his gold-rimmed glasses and let out a long sigh.
"Three children, Claire," Arthur said quietly, tapping the sonogram. "This changes everything regarding the prenuptial agreement."
"I don't care about the prenup, Uncle Arthur," I said, sitting upright in the leather armchair. "I want him served by noon today."
"You don't understand," Arthur replied, opening a thick manila folder stamped with red confidential seals. "Vincent signed an infidelity clause five years ago at your father's insistence."
I looked up, stunned.
My father had passed away two years after our wedding, and Vincent had handled the estate paperwork personally.
"Your father knew the Moretti family better than you did," Arthur continued, sliding a legal contract across the desk. "If Vincent committed adultery, he forfeits seventy percent of the liquid assets held in the primary domestic trust, plus all residential properties purchased during the marriage."
"He bought Sophia an eighty-six-thousand-dollar bracelet with funds from our joint household checking account," I said, showing Arthur the digital transaction alert on my phone.
Arthur’s mouth tightened into a sharp, predatory smile.
"That constitutes an unauthorized dissipation of marital assets for an illicit third party. It’s an open-and-shut case."
Before Arthur could pick up his pen, the heavy glass doors of the reception lobby banged open.
Vincent stood in the entryway, breathing heavily, his charcoal overcoat open and his collar unbuttoned.
Two junior associates tried to block him, but Vincent shoved past them with the raw arrogance of a man used to buying his way through locked doors.
"Get out," Vincent snapped at the associates, his eyes locking onto me. "Leave us alone."
"Mr. Moretti, you are trespassing on private partnership property," Arthur stated coldly, standing up behind his desk. "Step outside, or building security will remove you in handcuffs."
Vincent ignored him completely, walking straight toward my chair until he was barely two feet away.
"Claire, stop this madness," Vincent pleaded, his voice dropping into a desperate whisper. "Sophia had a panic attack. Her blood pressure spiked. I had to take her to the emergency clinic."
"You were at the maternity ward, Vincent," I said without flinching. "Don't insult my intelligence."
Vincent flinched as if I had struck him.
"She thought she was having complications from an ovarian cyst! I was only helping an employee!"
"An employee who gets eighty-six-thousand-dollar diamond bracelets on my birthday?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
His jaw tightened.
Color flooded his pale cheeks, the sudden guilt flashing across his eyes before he could reconstruct his polished corporate mask.
"I made a mistake with the bracelet," he stammered, running a trembling hand through his dark hair. "I was drunk after the board dinner. Sophia picked it out, and I wasn't thinking. But the baby... Claire, is it really three?"
He reached out toward my stomach, his hand shaking.
I stood up and stepped backward, out of his reach.
"Do not touch me," I said, my voice ice. "You lost the right to touch me the moment you told your mistress that missing my birthday meant nothing."
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Vincent’s eyes widened in horror.
He realized in that instant that I hadn't just received a text; I had been sitting in that restaurant watching every second of his betrayal.
