Chapter 7 - The Master of Strategy
The next morning, I didn't stay in bed.
When Grant came downstairs at eight o'clock, dressed in his dark blue suit, expecting to find his broken wife staring blankly into a coffee mug, he stopped dead in his tracks at the entrance to the dining room.
I was sitting at the head of the long mahogany table.
I was wearing a tailored white pantsuit—the same suit I used to wear when presiding over quarterly board meetings. My hair was styled in a sleek, low bun, my makeup was flawless, covering every trace of the bruises on my neck, and a stack of financial folders sat neatly beside my plate.
"Claire?" Grant stammered, staring at me as if he were seeing a ghost brought back to life. "You're... you're dressed. You're sitting up."
"Good morning, Grant," I said smoothly, taking a quiet sip of my Earl Grey tea. "Sit down. We need to talk about the trust hearing next month."
Grant hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he walked slowly toward the opposite end of the table. "Claire, the attorneys told you not to stress yourself with legal matters. I'm handling the hearing with Mr. Vance."
"Mr. Vance?" I smiled faintly. "You mean Victoria’s uncle? The managing partner at Vance & Associates?"
Grant’s hands tightened on the back of his chair. "He’s an expert in North Carolina land probate, Claire. That’s all."
"I'm sure he is," I said, opening the top folder on my stack. "I called the trust board yesterday afternoon, Grant. As sole trustee of my father's estate until an heir reaches twenty-one, I have authorized a full financial audit of Mercer Urban Development’s capital expenditures over the last thirty-six months."
Grant’s face went stiff. "You did what? Claire, you don't have the legal authority to trigger a corporate audit without my consent as CEO!"
"Actually, I do," I replied, leaning back in my chair and looking him dead in the eyes. "Because fifteen percent of your firm’s operating capital was backed by my personal inheritance guarantees. If there are irregularities in your accounting—say, undisclosed payments to offshore medical accounts or dummy design consultancies in SouthPark—the trust board has the right to freeze all project development lines immediately."
Grant slammed his hands onto the table, his composure finally shattering. "What is this, Claire?! Are you trying to destroy my company while I’m trying to save our family’s future?!"
"I’m saving my father’s legacy, Grant," I said softly, my voice calm, icy, and completely unbothered by his outburst. "You’ve been carrying a heavy burden since the accident. You look tired. The dark circles under your eyes are getting quite pronounced."
He stared at me, his chest heaving, trying to read my face, trying to figure out if I was bluffing or if I had recovered my memory.
"I loved those babies, Grant," I whispered, my eyes softening into a terrifying fake tenderness. "And I know how much you loved them too. That’s why we need to make sure justice is served before the trust money is released. Don't you agree?"
Grant swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Of course, Claire. Of course I agree."
"Good," I smiled, closing my folder. "I’ve invited Dr. Keller and Victoria to dinner here at the house on Friday night. A quiet, intimate dinner to thank them for everything they’ve done for us during this difficult time."
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Grant’s eyes widened in sheer horror. "Dinner? Here? Claire, that’s... that’s completely unnecessary! You're still recovering!"
"Nonsense," I said, standing up from the table, my white suit immaculate in the morning light. "I insist. It’s time we put all our cards on the table, Grant. Don't keep your wife waiting."
