Chapter 2 - THE RETURN OF THE ARCHITECT OF THE EMPIRE
"YOU THOUGHT SHE WAS A HOUSEWIFE, BUT SHE OWNS THE BLUEPRINTS TO YOUR ENTIRE LIFE"
Six weeks later.
The penthouse suite of the Prescott Memorial Hospital overlooked the Chicago skyline. Adeline sat in a plush armchair, staring out at the rising steel structures in the distance. Her face was pale, but her eyes were no longer empty. The sorrow of losing her child had solidified into a cold, unbreakable resolve.
Her grandfather, William Prescott, sat across from her. He was eighty-two, with silver hair and a posture as straight as a steel beam. On the table between them lay a thick leather binder.
"You've been quiet, Addie," William said, his voice deep and rumbling. "The doctors say you are physically healed. But the soul takes longer."
"I am fine, Grandfather," Adeline said, her voice steady. "In fact, I've never seen things more clearly."
"And Chase?"
"Chase is signing the final papers for the downtown lakeside development project tomorrow morning," Adeline replied, her fingers tracing the edge of her teacup. "He believes Vanguard is about to become a household name."
William smiled, a dangerous, sharp expression. "He’s using the 'Phoenix Marina' design. The one you drew on our dining table when you were twenty-two."
"Yes," Adeline said. "The design I registered under the 'Jones Prescott' trademark. The trademark he bypassed by using a forged licensing agreement he thought I signed as his sub-contractor."
Nolan entered the room, tossing a tablet onto the table. "Our legal team just finalized the filings. We’ve issued a quiet, nationwide cease-and-desist on all architectural assets utilizing the 'Jones Prescott' patents. That includes the Phoenix Marina, the South Side Civic Center, and the three high-rises Vanguard currently has under construction."
Adeline looked at the tablet. It showed a live feed of Vanguard Development’s stock price, which had been steadily climbing in anticipation of the lakeside deal.
"He thinks Brielle’s father, Marcus Vale, is financing the remainder of the project," Nolan added, laughing softly. "But our intelligence team looked into Marcus Vale. The man is drowning in debt. His 'billionaire' status is an illusion built on shell companies and unpaid loans. He’s using Chase’s company to launder what little cash he has left."
"So, two scammers found each other," Adeline said quietly.
"Exactly," Nolan said. "They deserve each other. But Chase doesn't know that yet. He thinks he’s marrying into royalty."
Adeline stood up. She walked over to the mirror. For three years, she had worn oversized sweaters, cheap jeans, and no makeup, all to make Chase feel like the provider, to keep his fragile ego intact. She had let her hair grow wild and stopped wearing her grandmother’s diamond earrings.
She picked up a pair of shears from her bedside table and handed them to her stylist, who was waiting in the corner.
"Cut it," Adeline commanded. "A sharp bob. Shoulder-length."
As the long brown locks fell to the floor, Adeline felt the last traces of the submissive, quiet wife sliding away. She put on a bespoke cream-colored power suit designed by Chanel. She fastened the Prescott family crest pin—a gold falcon with emerald eyes—to her lapel.
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"Where are we going?" Nolan asked, a grin spreading across his face.
"To the Vanguard headquarters," Adeline said, her eyes flashing with a cold, predatory light. "Chase is hosting his pre-signing press conference today. I think it’s time his chief architect made an appearance."
