I was thirty-four weeks pregnant when I found photographs proving my husband had been secretly seeing his first love for almost our entire marriage / Chapter 19 / 40

Chapter 19 - The Counter-Strike

By noon, the financial news networks were calling it the *Midtown Massacre.*

Brooks Capital had collapsed. Trading was halted. Wall Street analysts were hailing Claire Mercer as the most lethal corporate strategist of her generation. The predatory wolves had tried to corner the heiress, and she had fed them their own poison.

Elena Moreau was formally indicted without bail on grand larceny and federal fraud charges. Carter’s mother, Evangeline, dropped the surrogate custody petition in panic, fleeing across the Italian border to avoid being named as a co-conspirator.

The storm that had threatened Victoria’s name was annihilated.

I stood on the balcony of Mercer Tower, watching the afternoon sunlight break through the retreating storm clouds, turning the glass spires of Manhattan into towers of gleaming gold. Alexander walked up beside me, holding two crystal glasses of vintage champagne.

"The surrogate court dismissed the case with prejudice an hour ago," Alexander said softly, handing me a glass. "Victoria's trust is permanently sealed. No court on earth can touch her lineage now."

I took a sip, the cool liquid sliding down my throat, but the tension in my shoulders didn't fully release.

"Sterling Brooks said something to the guards as he was dragged into the lobby," I murmured, staring down at the bustling streets below.

Alexander frowned. "What did he say?"

"He laughed like a madman and told the guards: *'You think I cared about the company? We were just the distraction.'*"

Alexander’s expression hardened. "He was bluffing, Claire. A desperate man trying to salvage his pride while his life crumbles around him."

"Was he?" I turned to look at Alexander, my intuition screaming with an instinctive, motherly terror. "Who bypassed the security system in the nursery last night, Alexander? We found the forged documents. We crushed his financial attack. But we never identified the inside leak."

Alexander reached for his phone to call the head of estate security.

Before he could dial, his phone rang in his hand. The caller ID displayed an encrypted number originating from inside our private Fifth Avenue residence.

Alexander put the call on speaker.

"Mr. Vance," a voice spoke from the other end.