Chapter 4 - The Chicago Flight
The private jet sliced through the cloud cover above Lake Michigan, descending toward O'Hare International Airport. Claire sat in the leather armchair, dressed in an elegant, tailored navy blazer and dark trousers. Across from her sat Victoria Vance, reviewing a thick stack of legal documents.
"Everything is set in Chicago," Victoria said, closing her leather briefcase with a crisp snap. "We’ve secured a court order that allows us to serve Everett with amended divorce filings charging him with egregious fraud, intentional infliction of emotional distress, and bad-faith asset concealment."
"What about the media?" Claire asked.
"The gala is being covered live by Chicago’s top business networks and high-society outlets," Victoria said with a razor-sharp grin. "Everett made sure of that. He hired a national broadcast team to live-stream his keynote speech to investors in Europe. He wants the whole world to see him unveil his legacy."
"Good," Claire murmured, looking out at the glittering skyline of Chicago appearing through the haze. "The live feed means he can't edit out the truth."
"Claire," Victoria paused, her expression softening with genuine concern. "Are you emotionally ready for this? Standing in that room... facing him, Tiffany, and Marcus in front of hundreds of people? It’s going to be chaotic."
Claire looked down at her hands. For ten years, those hands had trembled whenever Everett raised his voice. For ten years, she had felt small, inadequate, and plagued by guilt for failing to give him a family.
She looked up at Victoria, her brown eyes completely calm, shining with an unshakeable inner light.
"I spent five years blaming my body for something it didn't do," Claire said quietly. "I spent five years believing I was worthless because a weak man couldn't face his own truth. I’m not nervous, Victoria. I’m free. This isn't revenge. It’s justice."
The plane touched down smoothly on the tarmac.
An hour later, Claire checked into a private suite at the Drake Hotel, overlooking Michigan Avenue. She had brought a specific outfit for the evening: a breathtaking, ice-silver silk gown designed by a top Italian couturier. It was sleek, sophisticated, and regal—a stark contrast to the soft, eager-to-please dresses Everett used to pick out for her.
At 6:00 PM, a knock came at her suite door. Frank Miller walked in, holding a sleek black velvet folder containing three sets of high-grade laminated documents.
"Inside here," Frank said, setting the folder on the table, "are the certified Swiss urology reports proving Everett’s total sterility, the preliminary 0.00% paternity test Everett tried to hide, and the certified 99.98% DNA match proving Marcus Vance is the biological father of Tiffany’s baby."
He also pulled out a small USB drive.
"This contains the hotel security footage from Miami showing Marcus and Tiffany entering their suite together, as well as audio files of Marcus discussing the company takeover with Tiffany in a hotel bar."
Claire picked up the USB drive. "Where did you get the audio?"
Frank smirked. "Marcus’s driver likes to talk when he’s tipped well. Marcus wasn't as careful as he thought."
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Claire held the velvet folder tightly against her chest.
"It’s time," she said.
