Chapter 3 - The Summons of the Patriarch
I stared at the glowing screen of my phone, watching the name Richard Moretti flash persistently, demanding to be answered.
Richard was a ruthless corporate titan who had built the Moretti empire from the ground up through sheer willpower and intimidation.
He was a man who demanded absolute perfection from his family and crushed anyone who dared to tarnish the prestigious Moretti name.
Taking a deep breath to steady my racing heart, I swiped the screen and brought the phone to my ear.
"Good morning, Richard," I answered, keeping my tone perfectly polite and terrifyingly calm.
"Claire," his deep, gravelly voice boomed through the speaker, devoid of any pleasantries. "I heard what happened."
"I assumed you would," I replied smoothly, watching the Chicago cityscape blur past the tinted windows of my car. "News travels fast when it’s broadcast to five hundred people."
A heavy, oppressive silence hung on the line, a tactic Richard often used to make his opponents crack under the pressure.
I did not crack.
"Vincent has been acting like a reckless fool, staying out overnight, and now the entire company is discussing the intimate details of your marriage," he stated, his voice vibrating with suppressed rage.
"And to add gasoline to the fire, my sources tell me you just publicly dumped his luggage and divorce papers in the main lobby."
"Your sources are incredibly accurate, Richard," I said, leaning back into the leather seat.
"Both of you are coming to the family estate today," he commanded, leaving absolutely no room for negotiation. "At noon. Sharp."
I looked across the street at a massive billboard advertising Moretti Holdings, realizing how fragile their pristine image truly was.
"Why?" I asked simply, knowing my defiance would infuriate him.
"Because I want to hear exactly what the hell is going on from both of you before the board of directors forces a vote of no confidence," he snapped.
"All right," I agreed quietly. "I will be there."
I hung up before he could issue any further demands, tossing the phone onto the empty seat beside me.
I knew exactly what the meeting at the estate would entail: manipulation, gaslighting, and a heavy-handed attempt to force me back into my cage for the sake of the company stock.
But I had no intention of playing the obedient daughter-in-law ever again.
I leaned forward and tapped the glass partition dividing me from my driver.
"Marcus, change of plans. Take me to the law offices of Brooks & Associates on Wacker Drive."
Ten minutes later, I was walking into the sleek, ultra-modern lobby of one of Chicago’s most aggressive corporate and family law firms.
I had called ahead, and Nathan Brooks, an old college friend who was now a senior partner, was waiting for me in his massive corner office.
Nathan was a shark in a tailored suit, a man known for dismantling prenuptial agreements and leaving cheating spouses with absolutely nothing.
As I walked in, he stood up, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips.
"Claire Bennett," he said, using my maiden name deliberately. "You certainly know how to set the city on fire before breakfast."
"I need your help, Nathan," I said, skipping the pleasantries and dropping my designer bag onto one of his plush visitor chairs.
His demeanor instantly shifted to pure, focused professionalism as he motioned for me to sit down across from his heavy mahogany desk.
"I saw the leaked screenshots of the group chat," Nathan admitted, pulling out a legal pad and a silver fountain pen. "It was a tactical masterpiece, but it’s going to make the divorce incredibly bloody."
"I don't care about the blood," I stated firmly, looking him dead in the eyes. "I want out."
"Tell me exactly what you want from the settlement," he instructed, poising his pen over the paper. "Alimony? Shares in the holding company? The penthouse?"
"I don’t want a single penny of Vincent’s dirty money," I replied, surprising him.
Nathan paused, raising an eyebrow in skepticism. "Claire, you are entitled to millions. Don't let pride make you poor."
"I am not walking away poor," I clarified, leaning forward and resting my hands on his desk. "I only want what rightfully belonged to me before I made the mistake of marrying into that family."
"Specify," he demanded, writing quickly.
"My father gave me a historic riverside mansion on the North Shore as a wedding gift," I explained. "The deed is strictly in my name, and I want ironclad assurance that Vincent cannot touch it in the division of assets."
Nathan nodded, aggressively underlining my words. "Consider it done. What else?"
Before I could answer, my phone vibrated furiously against the desk wood.
I glanced at the screen, watching Richard Moretti's assistant calling to confirm my arrival at the estate.
"Vincent's father has summoned us for a mandatory family tribunal at noon," I told Nathan, a bitter taste rising in my mouth.
Nathan leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Do you want me to come with you? I can shut Richard down in five minutes."
"No," I replied, grabbing my bag and standing up with a newfound sense of lethal confidence.
"For the first time in three years, I want to stop being quiet. I need to face them alone."
Nathan smiled, a predatory gleam in his eye as he handed me a fresh, legally binding copy of the divorce petition.
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"Give them hell, Claire."
I took the papers, feeling the heavy weight of my future in my hands, and walked out into the warzone.
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