Chapter 4 - The War on Wall Street
Two weeks passed in a blur of intense media scrutiny and hidden corporate warfare.
As Adrian had predicted, the news of his uncle’s federal corruption trial broke across every major financial network in New York. The Wall Street Journal, The New York Post, and Bloomberg ran daily headlines detailing the million-dollar fraud scheme within Moretti Capital.
Yet, despite the storm brewing on Wall Street, my life in Brooklyn Heights remained remarkably peaceful.
Two discreet, highly trained private security guards—a quiet husband-and-wife team named Leo and Maya—occupied the brownstone lobby. They carried my groceries, screened my mail, and escorted the paparazzi off the block before they could even set up their camera lenses.
Every morning at 8:00 AM, a small box arrived at my door from a high-end organic bakery in Manhattan, accompanied by a single red rose and a handwritten note from Adrian:
Eat well today. Remember your iron supplements. - A.
He didn't push. He didn't force his way into my apartment. He kept his word, remaining at a respectful distance, granting me the space I needed to process everything.
On a rainy Tuesday afternoon, my phone rang.
It was Marco Bellini.
"Ms. Bennett," Marco said, his voice sounding unusually tight and hurried. "I apologize for calling you directly, but we have a situation at the Manhattan headquarters."
I sat up straight on my sofa, my hand instantly dropping to my stomach. "What kind of situation, Marco? Is Adrian okay?"
"The board of directors called an emergency proxy vote," Marco explained quietly. "Don Moretti’s faction has allied with an offshore investment group from Chicago. They are attempting to remove Adrian as CEO by claiming he liquidated twenty million dollars of firm assets for personal, unauthorized use during your divorce settlement."
My breath hitched. The twenty million dollars Adrian had transferred to my private trust during our divorce was now being used by his enemies as evidence of corporate embezzlement.
"They are trying to frame him," I realized aloud.
"Yes," Marco said grimly. "The board meeting is happening right now on the fiftieth floor. Adrian is refusing to present the divorce trust documents to defend himself because doing so would make your private financial records public record for the press."
He was sacrificing his own career to protect my privacy.
"Where is the meeting?" I demanded, standing up, reaching for my boots.
"The main boardroom at Moretti Plaza," Marco replied. "Ms. Bennett, please... Adrian would kill me if he knew I called you—"
"Tell Harrison to bring the car to my building now, Marco," I ordered, my voice ringing out with a fierce, absolute command that surprised even myself. "I’ll be downstairs in three minutes."
Twenty minutes later, the black Maybach tore through the rainy streets of Manhattan, pulling up to the glass tower of Moretti Plaza on Park Avenue.
I stepped out into the grand lobby wearing an emerald-green maternity dress that highlighted the clear, round curve of my sixteen-week baby bump, draped in a sharp cream coat. My dark hair was swept back into an elegant bun, my chin held high.
Leo and Maya walked on either side of me, clearing a path through the crowded lobby as executive assistants and analysts stopped dead in their tracks, whispering frantically as they recognized the former Mrs. Moretti.
We took the private express elevator straight to the fiftieth floor.
The heavy mahogany doors of the main boardroom were closed, but through the glass partitions, I could see twenty board members seated around a massive granite table.
At the head of the table sat Adrian.
He looked exhausted. His suit jacket was unbuttoned, his tie slightly loosened, his dark hair disheveled. Standing across from him was his cousin, Julian Moretti—a slick, arrogant man in his late thirties who held a stack of legal deposition folders.
"...Therefore," Julian’s booming voice echoed through the door as I approached, "we move for the immediate removal of Adrian Moretti as Chief Executive Officer on grounds of fiduciary negligence and unauthorized capital diversion!"
Adrian didn't respond. He sat in his chair, his hands resting flat on the granite table, his expression cold, unreadable, utterly resigned to his fate.
I didn't knock.
I pushed the heavy mahogany doors wide open.
The loud CLACK of the doors opening reverberated through the boardroom. Every single head turned toward the entrance.
Julian stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening in shock. "What is the meaning of this?! This is a closed board meeting!"
I walked into the boardroom with smooth, deliberate grace, my heels clicking against the marble floor. I stopped right beside Adrian’s executive chair, resting my hand comfortably over the proud curve of my pregnant stomach.
Adrian looked up at me, his gray eyes wide with utter bewilderment and sudden, intense alarm. "Claire? What are you doing here?"
I offered him a soft, reassuring smile before turning her icy gaze toward Julian and the rest of the board.
"I am here," I announced, my voice carrying an undeniable, sovereign authority that commanded the entire room, "to inform this board that the twenty million dollars in question was not embezzled."
Julian scoffed nervously. "Ms. Bennett, you are no longer an employee or a spouse of this firm! You have no standing—"
"I am the mother of the sole heir to the Moretti family estate," I interrupted coldly, pulling a certified bank document from my handbag and slapping it down onto the center of the granite table. "That capital was transferred into a legally binding, court-approved maternal trust fund created specifically for the unborn child of Adrian Moretti."
Silence fell over the boardroom like a heavy velvet curtain.
Every board member stared at my stomach, then at the certified court document lying on the table, then at Adrian.
Julian turned paper-white. "Unborn... child?"
I looked down at Julian, my eyes narrowing into razor-sharp slits. "If any member of this board attempts to challenge the legitimacy of my child's trust fund, my legal team will file a twenty-million-dollar counter-suit for intentional harassment of a pregnant minor beneficiary by eight o'clock tomorrow morning."
Not a single board member spoke. Several senior executives hastily gathered their folders, lowering their heads.
May you like
Adrian slowly stood up from his chair. He didn't look at the board. He didn't look at Julian. His eyes were locked entirely on me, shining with a mixture of awe, reverence, and raw, overwhelming love.
"The meeting is adjourned," Adrian declared quietly.
