Chapter 3 - THE MIDNIGHT ULTIMATUMBy 9:00 PM, the mansion felt like a tomb.
Arthur’s corporate thugs had cleared out the ground floor, stationed two security guards at the main gates, and confiscated all landline communications. Eleanor, terrified for her own job and pension, had locked herself in her quarters on the third floor.
I sat in the dark study, staring at the amber glow of the fireplace. The fever from the night before was trying to crawl back into my bones, making my skin burn and my limbs ache.
The door creaked open.
Grace walked in carrying a steaming mug of ginger tea and a small plate of crackers. Little Noah was fast asleep in a makeshift sling strapped across her chest, breathing softly against her heart.
"You need to drink this," Grace said, setting the mug on the desk.
"They're going to destroy us, Grace," I whispered, staring blindly at the reflections in the windowpane. "Arthur has the judges in his pocket. He has the board. Within twenty-four hours, I’ll be declared legally incompetent, locked away in some private asylum in Switzerland, and you and Noah will be tossed out onto the freezing Chicago streets. You need to take your son and run right now, while the security guards are changing shifts."
Grace pulled a chair close to my wheelchair and sat down, ignoring my command completely. She gently took my fever-warm hand in hers.
"I don't run from bullies, Julian," she said softly. "I've spent my whole life fighting just to keep a roof over my son's head. Do you think a slick corporate criminal in a tailored suit scares me?"
"You don't understand," I argued, my voice breaking. "You're risking everything for a broken man. I have nothing left to give you."
"You gave me a chance when no one else would," she replied. "And last night, when your fever spiked to 104 and you were crying out for a father who died twenty years ago... I realized something. You aren't cold, Julian. You're just freezing to death because nobody ever loved you enough to thaw the ice."
Her words punched straight through the armor I had spent two decades forging. A tear spilled over my lashes, tracking down my hollow cheek. Without thinking, I leaned forward and rested my forehead against her shoulder, right beside sleeping Noah.
She wrapped her free arm around my back, holding me steady in the dark.
"We aren't going to lose," Grace whispered against my hair. "Because Arthur made one fatal mistake today."
I lifted my head. "What mistake?"
"He thinks he’s the only one who keeps records." She reached into the deep pocket of her secondhand cardigan and pulled out a battered, waterproof flash drive. "When I was cleaning his private suite last week before he left for New York, I noticed his wall safe was unlocked. I didn't steal anything, Julian... but I did plug my phone into his docking station to back up my baby photos. His cloud storage auto-synced to my device."
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My eyes widened. "What's on that drive, Grace?"
"Audio recordings," she smiled grimly. "Conversations between Arthur and Thomas Briggs detailing every single bolt they loosened on your father’s brake lines."
