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Bel was waiting for him at The Plaza later that night. A strategic appearance. Nothing public yet—just enough to plant the idea. A fresh start. A new image. A woman who fit beside him, sleek and uncomplicated, instead of a wife dragging him down into domestic chaos.
As he stepped into the elevator, Grant allowed himself a moment of pure satisfaction. The narrative was his to control now. He was the CEO who made hard choices. The man who didn’t let personal weakness interfere with professional growth. No one would ask where Lynn went. In New York, people disappeared every day.
By mid-morning, he sat at the head of a glass conference table overlooking Wall Street, his fingers wrapped around a Montblanc pen. He spoke to potential investors with a magnetic confidence.
“This company is entering its strongest phase,” Grant said smoothly. “No distractions. No instability.”
The men across from him nodded, impressed. Then, his assistant slipped into the room, her face pale. She leaned close to his ear.
“Sir,” she whispered. “There’s an issue with one of the funding channels.”
Grant frowned, keeping his smile fixed for the room. “Which one?”
“The Parker Hale Trust.”
The name barely registered. “We don’t work with them.”
“Not directly,” she murmured. “But their capital influences two of our secondary partners. They’ve paused pending review.”
Grant leaned back, masking a flicker of irritation. “That’s temporary.”
“Yes,” she replied, her voice trembling slightly. “But they’ve requested updated disclosures on personal risk exposure.”
Grant’s jaw tightened. “I’ll handle it.”
The meeting resumed, but the air in the room had shifted. For the first time that day, Grant felt a faint, cold edge of unease. He pushed it away. He had lawyers. He had advisors. He had influence. This was nothing.
Outside, his phone buzzed again. Unknown number. He ignored it.
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