Chapter 4 - The Morning After
At 7:00 AM, the Sterling family was attempting damage control.
Inside the sprawling penthouse apartment overlooking Lake Michigan, Lucas sat at the marble kitchen island, nursing a hangover and a pounding headache. His mother, Marion Sterling, paced the floor in a silk robe, while his father, Richard, sat at the head of the dining table, scanning the morning business journals on his tablet.
"Did you reach her?" Richard demanded without looking up.
"Her phone is off," Lucas muttered, rubbing his temples. "She probably went to her father's house in Oak Park."
"Good," Marion sniffed, tossing a glossy gossip magazine onto the table. "Page Six already has a blind item about a 'scene' at the Peninsula. Helena Vance from the art gallery is telling everyone you lost your temper, Lucas. We need Willow to sign a joint press statement claiming she had an allergic reaction and collapsed."
"She won't sign it," Lucas said, remembering the cold look in Willow's eyes on the terrace. "She was different last night, Dad. She looked... dangerous."
Richard scoffed loudly, sipping his black coffee. "Dangerous? She's a mechanic's daughter with a failing art gallery, Lucas. What is she going to do? Sue us for divorce? We have a prenuptial agreement that leaves her with a hundred thousand dollars and a used Volvo. She'll be back on her knees by noon when she realizes her credit cards are frozen."
"You froze her cards?" Lucas asked, frowning slightly.
"I froze every account connected to the Sterling name at 6:00 AM," Richard said coldly. "Including the operating account for her gallery. Let's see how long her 'artistic pride' lasts when her landlord locks her out of Wicker Park."
Before Lucas could respond, Richard's personal cell phone began ringing on the table.
It was Harrison Vance, the managing partner of Vance & Sterling Legal, and Richard's personal attorney for thirty years.
Richard answered on speaker. "Harrison. Did you draft the non-disclosure agreement for the Peninsula staff?"
"Richard... turn on the financial news right now," Harrison's voice came through the speaker, breathless and trembling with panic.
Richard frowned, picking up the remote control and snapping on the 65-inch television screen mounted on the living room wall.
The CNBC banner across the bottom of the screen read in bold, flashing red letters:
BREAKING NEWS: FEDERAL TRADE COMMISSION & U.S. DISTRICT COURT ISSUE EMERGENCY FREEZE ON STERLING ENTERPRISE ASSETS FOLLOWING MASSIVE PATENT REVERSION CLAIM.
Richard froze, the coffee cup hovering inches from his lips. "What is this nonsense?"
The news anchor continued in a crisp, authoritative tone:
"...The injunction, filed at 6:00 AM in the Northern District of Illinois, alleges that Sterling Enterprises' primary structural foundation patents—used in over sixty percent of commercial skyscrapers built in Chicago over the last three decades—were acquired through fraudulent assignment from inventor Michael Francis Donovan. The court has placed a temporary freeze on all Sterling debt-refinancing bonds pending a four-hundred-million-dollar audit..."
The remote control slipped from Richard's hand, hitting the hardwood floor with a loud crack.
"Donovan..." Richard whispered, his face turning an ash-gray color. "Michael Donovan?"
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"Dad?" Lucas stood up, his hangover vanishing instantly. "What is he talking about? Who is Michael Donovan?"
Before Richard could answer, the penthouse doorbell rang—three loud, slow, deliberate chimes that echoed through the vast apartment.
