Chapter 8 - The Settlement
Two months before her due date, Eleanor sat in a private conference room at the Cook County Detention Center.
She had requested the meeting herself. Adrian and Julian had agreed, provided they sat on either side of her, while two armed guards stood at the door.
Grant was brought into the room, wearing a orange jumpsuit, his hands cuffed at his waist.
He looked ten years older. His hair was messy, his posture slumped, the arrogant charm completely stripped away by two months in pre-trial detention.
He sat down across the steel table, staring at Eleanor.
His eyes moved to her swollen belly, then to the diamond-and-sapphire ring on her finger—her mother’s ring, which Adrian had given back to her three weeks ago.
“Eleanor,” Grant rasped, his voice hollow. “Please. You have to tell Julian to drop the federal charges. I’m facing twenty years, Ellie. Twenty years!”
Eleanor looked at him, her expression completely calm.
There was no hatred in her eyes. No fury. No lingering desire for revenge. Only a profound, peaceful indifference.
“I didn't file the federal charges, Grant,” Eleanor said quietly. “The United States government did. Because you committed wire fraud and forgery.”
“I did it for us!” Grant lied desperately, leaning across the table. “I was trying to build an empire for our child! I got confused, Serena was manipulating me—”
“Stop,” Eleanor interrupted.
The single word cut through his rant like steel.
“Don't speak about our child,” Eleanor said, her voice steady as stone. “You don't have a child coming, Grant. My daughter has three uncles, a mother, and a family name that stands for honor. You are a stranger who will be signing away his parental rights before the end of this hour.”
Julian slid a single sheet of paper across the metal table.
“A full relinquishment of parental rights,” Julian said coldness. “In exchange, we agree not to pursue civil damages against the remaining remnants of your personal estate. Sign it, or I will file three additional civil lawsuits tomorrow morning that will ensure you leave prison with nothing but the clothes on your back.”
Grant looked at the paper, his hands trembling. He looked up at Adrian, who was staring at him with dark, lethal eyes.
He knew he had no leverage. No money. No friends left in Chicago.
With a shaking hand, Grant picked up the pen and signed his name at the bottom of the page.
Eleanor stood up gracefully, smoothing her dress.
May you like
“Goodbye, Grant,” she said softly.
She turned and walked toward the heavy steel door. She didn't look back when Grant began to weep behind her.
