Chapter 7 - The True Paternity & The Trap
By midnight, the news of the Kingsley wedding collapse had detonated across every financial and society news desk on the Eastern Seaboard.
KINGSLEY DEVELOPMENT FALLS INTO RECEIVERSHIP; HEIRESS PROVES PATERNITY OF MORETTI SCION.
Inside the forty-second-floor penthouse of the Moretti Tower overlooking the East River, the atmosphere was a world away from the chaotic greed of the Plaza.
Aurelia lay sleeping in an antique wooden cradle lined with ivory silk, positioned right beside the stone fireplace in the master salon. A low fire crackled in the hearth, throwing warm, amber shadows across the dark oak paneling and the sweeping panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline.
I sat on the deep velvet sofa wearing a soft cashmere robe, nursing a mug of warm chamomile tea, watching Dominic work.
He had discarded his suit jacket and tie, wearing an unbuttoned white linen dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, reviewing the final corporate liquidation filings with Arthur Albright.
“Dr. Sterling has completed his deposition,” Albright reported, closing his laptop with a crisp snap. “He provided the digital audio files of Grant Kingsley explicitly instructing him to forge the diagnostic panels. The medical board revoked his license at eleven p.m. He will serve a minimum of three years for federal healthcare fraud.”
“And Grant?” I asked softly.
Dominic looked up from his ledgers, his dark gray eyes softening as his gaze met mine.
“Grant is currently sitting in his empty penthouse on Fifth Avenue,” Dominic said quietly. “The utility services will be disconnected by Monday morning. The bank repossessed his private jet, his cars, and his country club memberships to satisfy the construction lien. He has twenty thousand dollars left in a checking account and fifty million dollars in personal civil liabilities.”
I set my mug down on the table, feeling a strange, profound sense of stillness settling into my soul. For three years, Grant Kingsley had made me feel like an empty vessel, a defect in his grand corporate design. Now, he was stripped down to the exact measurement of his own hollow heart.
Dominic stood up, walked around the table, and dismissed Albright with a slight, respectful nod.
The old attorney bowed quietly, gathered his papers, and exited into the private elevator corridor, leaving the three of us alone in the quiet fortress above the city.
Dominic walked over to the sofa, sitting down beside me, his large, warm hand covering mine where it rested on the velvet cushions. His fingers laced through mine, solid, immovable, and alive with an ancient, unyielding devotion.
“You did well tonight, Claire,” Dominic murmured, his voice rich and low.
“I was terrified, Dom,” I admitted, leaning my head against his broad shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent of cedar, dark tobacco, and rain. “When we walked through those double doors… I thought my knees were going to give out.”
“Your knees never gave out,” Dominic whispered, his hand coming up to gently cup my jawline, turning my face toward his. “You stood before five hundred wolves with your daughter in your arms, and you took back everything they tried to steal from you.”
May you like
He leaned in, his lips brushing mine in a slow, tender kiss that erased every remaining shadow of the past three years.
Across the room, from the ivory cradle by the fire, a tiny, happy coo broke the silence, signaling that the newest ruler of the Moretti empire was awake and demanding her midnight audience.
