Chapter 2 - The Cold Calculation
Thirty miles away, inside the private cigar lounge of the Lake Forest Country Club, Blake Bennett poured himself three fingers of aged scotch.
Across the leather sofa sat his father, Harrison Bennett—a broad-shouldered man of sixty-five with silver hair, sharp blue eyes, and a face carved from forty years of corporate ruthlessness.
"You're sure she signed nothing?" Harrison asked, blowing a thick cloud of blue smoke toward the high ceiling.
"She pressed the nurse call button and threw me out," Blake replied, leaning against the marble fireplace. "She was hysterical. You know how Emma gets when she's emotional."
Harrison scoffed, swirling his glass. "Emotional. Women think with their nerves instead of their heads. It’s a pity. I liked Emma. She was quiet, well-mannered, looked good at fundraisers. But a daughter changes the math, Blake."
Blake took a deep drink. "The board was already asking questions about the succession clause in the new bond agreement. If the investors think Bennett Development is going to slip into a trust management structure because there's no male heir, our credit rating drops two points by Monday."
"You did the right thing," Harrison said coldly. "We cut the tie cleanly before the news hits the papers. The divorce papers were served to her hospital room an hour ago by courier. Our legal team has already filed an emergency injunction freezing all joint assets under the corporate holding clause."
Blake paused, his glass halfway to his mouth. "She has no money, Dad. Her parents are dead. Where is she going to go?"
"She’ll go to a shelter, or she’ll crawl back here on her knees begging for a settlement," Harrison spat without a shred of empathy. "And when she does, she’ll sign the non-disclosure agreement and surrender full custody rights in exchange for a modest monthly stipend. We can't have a Bennett child running around Chicago raised by an unemployed schoolteacher."
A quiet knock sounded at the mahogany door. Blake’s personal assistant, a nervous young man named Miller, stepped into the lounge.
"Mr. Bennett," Miller said, his voice tight. "The courier just called from St. Catherine’s."
Blake straightened up. "Did she sign the papers?"
"No, sir," Miller hesitated, swallowing hard. "Mrs. Bennett wasn't in her room. She discharged herself forty minutes ago."
Harrison frowned, setting his cigar down. "Where did she go? Did she call a cab?"
"The hospital security footage shows her leaving through the main entrance on foot," Miller said, looking at his tablet. "She was sitting on the bench outside in the snow. Then... someone picked her up."
Blake laughed sarcastically. "Who? She doesn't have any friends left in the city. I made sure of that."
Miller looked up, his face pale under the soft lighting of the lounge. "The vehicle was registered to Vale Logistics, sir. Dominic Vale was inside. Security footage shows him talking to her on the curb... and then putting her and the baby in his car."
The room went dead silent.
The scotch glass in Harrison Bennett’s hand froze. The elder tycoon stared at his assistant, his blue eyes narrowing into slits of pure fury.
"Dominic Vale?" Harrison rasped, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. "Why the hell is Dominic Vale taking my daughter-in-law and grandchild?"
"I... I don't know, sir," Miller stammered. "Should I call our legal team?"
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Harrison slowly stood up, slamming his heavy hand onto the mahogany table. "Call legal, call security, and get our private investigator on the phone right now. If Dominic Vale thinks he can use my family’s drama to pull a leverage play on Bennett Development, I’ll burn his shipping terminals to the ground."
Blake stared at his father, a cold knot of dread suddenly forming in his stomach. For the first time since he had walked out on his newborn daughter, he realized that throwing Emma away might not have been as clean as he had calculated.
