Chapter 5 - The Desperate Beggar
Three days after the raid on Whitmore Properties, the empire was officially dead.
The firm had declared bankruptcy under Chapter 7 liquidation. The bank had seized the River North site, the family’s commercial buildings were put up for emergency court auction, and Grant had been released on a five-million-dollar bail—a bail paid only because his mother, Patricia, had sold her prized jewelry collection and placed a second mortgage on their Lake Forest estate.
At 8:00 PM, a freezing rain was falling over downtown Chicago.
Grant stood outside the iron gates of Ashford Manor in Gold Coast, wearing a wet, rumpled trench coat. His hair was soaked, his face covered in three days of stubble, dark purple circles carved beneath his eyes.
He looked like a shadow of the arrogant man who had stood beneath crystal chandeliers seventy-two hours earlier.
He pressed the intercom button on the stone pillar frantically. "Claire! Claire, please! Press four! It's Grant! Please, just give me five minutes!"
The iron gate groaned open automatically.
Grant felt a sudden, pathetic burst of hope flare in his chest. She still loves me, he thought frantically, wiping the rain from his eyes. She spent three years taking care of me! She won't let me go to prison! She just wanted to teach me a lesson!
He ran up the long, grand driveway toward the stone mansion, his shoes splashing through water puddles.
The massive oak front doors opened.
Grant stepped into the grand foyer, his wet shoes staining the pristine white marble floor.
Standing at the top of the grand double staircase was Claire.
She wore a simple, elegant midnight-blue silk dress, her hair swept up neatly, holding a glass of warm tea. Beside her stood Harrison Vance and two broad-shouldered private security guards.
"Claire!" Grant sobbed, taking three rapid steps toward the stairs before the security guards stepped down, blocking his path with solid, immovable posture. "Claire! Thank God! You opened the door!"
I looked down at him from the top of the stairs, my expression entirely free of anger, hatred, or resentment. There was only a profound, freezing indifference.
"I opened the door, Grant, because your screaming was disturbing my neighbors," I said softly.
Grant dropped to his knees on the cold marble floor, his hands clasped together in desperate supplication.
"Claire, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!" Grant wept, tears mixing with the rainwater on his face. "I was crazy! Vanessa manipulated me! She trapped me with the kid! I never loved her, Claire! I swear to God I only ever loved you!"
I took a quiet sip of my tea. "You loved my money, Grant. And when you thought I was a helpless orphan, you thought you could step on me to build your ego."
"I was stupid! I was wrong!" Grant cried out, crawling forward until the security guards placed a firm boot on his shoulder, holding him in place. "My dad had a heart attack, Claire! He’s in the ICU! My mother is losing her mind! The prosecutors are offering me fifteen years in prison for the loan signatures! Please, Claire... tell your father to drop the charges! Tell the banks to stop the liquidation! I’ll do anything! I’ll be your servant! I’ll sign whatever you want!"
I slowly walked down three steps, stopping just above him.
"Do you remember what you told me at the party, Grant?" I asked softly.
Grant blinked through his tears, shaking his head.
"You pushed a pen into my hand and said, 'If you fight me, my attorneys will bury you. You’ll spend years in court.'" I quoted his exact words back to him. "And do you remember what Patricia said when she looked at my stomach?"
Grant went silent, his mouth trembling.
"She said I gave your family nothing," I whispered, my voice dropping into a razor-sharp edge. "She stood there and celebrated your illegitimate child while knowing that you shoved me down the stairs eighteen months ago and killed my baby."
Grant’s face drained of what little color remained. "Claire... I... I didn't mean to shove you that night... I was drunk..."
"I didn't care about the money, Grant," I said, tears finally sparkling in my eyes—not of sadness, but of pure, righteous resolution. "I would have given you every dollar my father owned if you had been a good man. But you destroyed my child. And for that, I am going to make sure you spend every single day of the next fifteen years behind steel bars."
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I looked at Harrison. "Get him out of my sight."
"Claire! No! Claire, please!" Grant screamed as the two security guards grabbed him by his arms, hoisting him off his knees, and dragged him out into the freezing rain, his screams fading into the howling wind as the heavy oak doors slammed shut forever.
