Chapter 3 - The Cold Reality
While I lay in a hospital bed surrounded by monitors, three hundred miles away in a private terminal in Los Angeles, Ethan Mercer was stepping off his private jet.
Standing at the bottom of the airstrip stairs was Sabrina Vale, wearing an emerald silk dress, her blonde hair styled to perfection, a photographer hiding casually behind a black SUV to catch their "spontaneous" reunion.
"Ethan, darling," Sabrina purred, stepping into his arms and kissing his cheek for the camera. "How was the flight?"
"Exhausting," Ethan muttered, running a hand through his hair. His mind was strangely distracted. Ever since he had walked out of the Manhattan apartment, a quiet, unpleasant weight had been sitting in his stomach.
He remembered the way Claire had grabbed the edge of the dining table. He remembered the brief shadow of pain across her face.
She was just dramatic, Ethan told himself, convincing his guilty conscience. Women pull those stunts when they lose control. She has twenty-four hours. She'll call her sister, go stay in Connecticut, and sign the final papers once she realizes she has no money.
"Is everything settled with your little housewife?" Sabrina asked as they slid into the back of a luxury town car. "My publicist wants to release the press statement about our relationship by Friday."
"The papers are served," Ethan said shortly. "She knows it's over."
His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Martin Keller, his corporate attorney.
Ethan answered immediately. "Martin. Is she out of the apartment?"
"Ethan," Martin's voice sounded unusually tense over the line. "We have a problem."
Ethan frowned, leaning away from Sabrina. "What problem? Did she refuse to leave? Call the building manager and have her escorted out."
"She isn't at the apartment, Ethan," Martin said. "She left last night around nine. But that's not the issue. Did you execute the cancellation order on her health insurance policy last night?"
"Of course I did," Ethan said coldly. "Why should my company pay ten thousand a month for her premium when we're divorcing? She can get her own policy."
"Ethan... she went into emergency labor last night," Martin revealed, his voice dropping to an anxious whisper. "Her water broke on a city bus during the rainstorm."
Ethan froze. The air left his lungs all at once. "What?"
"She was admitted to New York-Presbyterian at midnight," Martin continued. "She delivered the triplets via emergency C-section at twenty-eight weeks. They're all in the NICU in critical condition."
Ethan stood up from his leather seat, nearly hitting his head on the car roof. "Triplets? Last night? Is she... are the babies okay?!"
"They survived the delivery, but they're extremely premature," Martin said. "Ethan, when the hospital tried to process her admission, your insurance cancellation bounced. The story almost leaked to the press—Billionaire CEO Cancels Pregnant Wife's Health Insurance Hours Before Emergency Triplet Birth. It would have destroyed Mercer Enterprises' stock."
Panic, sharp and cold, pierced through Ethan's chest. "Did it leak?!"
"No," Martin answered. "Because someone stepped in and settled the entire bill before the press could grab it."
Ethan blinked, confused. "Who? Her parents don't have that kind of liquidity."
"Julian Vance," Martin said softly.
Ethan’s jaw dropped. "Julian Vance? The founder of Vance Global Capital? Why the hell would Vance pay my wife's medical bills?!"
"I don't know, Ethan," Martin admitted. "But Vance's legal team just served Mercer Enterprises with a formal litigation hold. Vance Capital just acquired thirty percent of our primary debt notes from Chase Bank. Ethan... Julian Vance is coming after your company."
Ethan stared out the car window at the sunny streets of Los Angeles, but a cold sweat was drenching his back.
Beside him, Sabrina laid a manicured hand on his knee. "Ethan, sweetie, what's wrong? You look pale."
May you like
Ethan pushed her hand away, his heart hammering wildly against his ribs. For the first time in five years, he felt a knot of pure terror twisting in his stomach. He had thrown Claire away like trash, expecting her to fade quietly into the background.
Instead, she had just aligned herself with the most dangerous predator on Wall Street.
