Chapter 4 - The Woman I Never Knew
By six o’clock that evening, the reality of my complete annihilation had begun to set in.
I tried to log into my corporate workstation.
*Access Denied. User credentials revoked by System Administrator.*
I pulled out my corporate American Express Centurion card and attempted to book a private investigator online to track down Corinne’s whereabouts.
*Transaction Declined: Account Restricted by Court Order.*
My personal credit cards, the joint checking accounts, even my emergency high-yield savings line—all frozen under the ironclad injunction obtained by Robert Vance. I had precisely four hundred and sixty dollars in cash in my leather wallet, a tank three-quarters full in my Mercedes sedan, and an estate that was legally mortgaged to the hilt.
Desperation drove me out of the house.
I sped through the darkening streets of Nashville toward Franklin, my tires squealing against the asphalt. Corinne’s mother, Eleanor, owned a modest, historic cottage on Margin Street. Eleanor had always treated me with polite reserve, viewing my aggressive commercial ambitions with a skepticism typical of old-money families who valued heritage over flashy wealth.
I slammed on my brakes outside the white picket fence, leaving the Mercedes idling at the curb.
I pounded on the front door. "Eleanor! Eleanor, please, open the door! It's Grant!"
The lace curtains in the front parlor parted slightly. A moment later, the porch light flickered on.
The door opened, but only as far as the heavy brass security chain would allow. Eleanor stood in the opening. She wore a tailored wool cardigan, her silver hair pinned in an immaculate twist. Her expression was completely devoid of emotion.
"Grant," she said quietly.
"Eleanor, thank God." I leaned against the doorframe, panting, desperate. "Where is she? Where did she take Owen? I need to speak to her. You don't understand what’s happening—there’s been a massive fraud, Tessa Vaughn was working with Mercer, my company is being stolen—"
"I understand perfectly what has happened," Eleanor interrupted, her voice steady and chillingly calm.
"Then tell me where she is! She’s my wife! Owen is my son!"
"Owen is a child whose life you almost forfeit before he drew his first breath," Eleanor said, her voice dropping into a register of profound, unforgiving contempt. "Corinne was in acute distress for six hours before Mrs. Pearl finally forced her into that car. Her blood pressure was lethal. The placental lining was detaching. The doctors told us that if she had waited another forty-five minutes to go into the operating room, both she and my grandson would have died on that living room floor."
A physical blow to my solar plexus could not have winded me more completely. My knees buckled slightly. I gripped the door jamb to keep from falling.
"She... she told me she had a scheduled cesarean," I stammered, tears spilling uncontrollably down my cheeks. "She texted me that the doctor moved it up by a few days..."
"She lied to you, Grant," Eleanor whispered. "She lied to spare herself the humiliation of watching you invent another excuse. She gave birth while you were feeding imported caviar to that vile creature in Atlanta. She lay in a sterile recovery room with IV tubes in her neck, holding that baby against her chest, and she made a decision."
"What decision?" I begged.
"She decided that her son would never grow up watching his father destroy the dignity of his mother."
Eleanor took a step back into the hall.
"Please, Eleanor," I sobbed, completely unraveled, kneeling on her welcome mat like a beggar. "Just tell me if they’re safe. Just tell me where he is. I don't care about the company anymore. I don't care about the money. Just let me see my boy. Let me tell her I’m sorry."
"You are not sorry for what you did, Grant," Eleanor said softly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears of sorrow. "You are only sorry that the walls have fallen on your head. My daughter is safe. My grandson is thriving. And as long as there is breath in my body, you will never cast your shadow across their peace again."
She closed the door.
The heavy deadbolt turned with an echoing clunk.
May you like
I sat on the cold wooden boards of Eleanor’s porch in the dark, the autumn wind howling through the bare maple branches above, clutching my chest as the first true sobs of my adult life tore through my throat.
***
