Chapter 10 - THE COLLAPSE OF THE FORTRESS
The blue and red flashing lights painted the white walls of the penthouse in frantic neon strokes.
The heavy oak doors of the private foyer burst open,
not with a quiet click,
but with the unmistakable boot-thud of federal marshals accompanied by local NYPD detectives.
“Grant Ashford!”
the lead federal agent shouted,
his hand resting on his service weapon as he strode down the gallery hallway.
“Step away from the table with your hands where we can see them!”
Grant’s security contractors instinctively reached inside their jackets,
but Martin Bell raised his hands immediately,
shouting,
“Stand down!
Do not resist federal marshals!”
Grant didn’t move.
He stood in the center of the dining room,
his tailored suit jacket slightly rumpled,
his eyes fixed on me with a mixture of disbelief and profound,
cold hatred.
“You called federal marshals to our home?”
Grant asked,
his voice dangerously low as officers converged around him,
their zip-ties clicking into place behind his back.
“I called the law,
Grant,”
I replied,
stepping out from the nursery doorway with Noah safely cradled in my arms.
“The same law you spent a decade dodging.”
As two agents escorted Grant past me toward the private elevator,
he didn't look at the officers.
He didn't look at Martin Bell.
His gaze locked onto my face one last time.
“You won’t keep the boy,”
Grant whispered as he passed within inches of my shoulder.
“The trust owns everything,
Claire.
Without me,
you’re just another woman holding a bastard child in a cold room.”
“He has a name,
Grant,”
I said,
my voice ringing clear and steady over the commotion of the apartment.
“And his name is Noah Ashford.
And unlike you,
he doesn't need a stolen empire to survive.”
The elevator doors closed,
cutting off his face behind sheets of mirrored stainless steel.
The apartment suddenly grew quiet,
the frantic sirens fading into a distant murmur against the Manhattan skyline.
Martin Bell walked over,
letting out a long,
shakily expelled breath as he adjusted his glasses.
“Well,
Mrs. Ashford,”
Martin said softly,
looking down at the sleeping infant against my chest.
“It appears the divorce proceedings have taken a somewhat unconventional turn.”
“Unconventional?”
I managed a small,
exhausted smile,
feeling the immense weight of the past nine months finally lift from my shoulders.
“No,
May you like
Martin.
This is just the first chapter.”
