Before he could answer, his phone rang, and it was Melanie calling him with more drama.
He stared at the caller ID, a surge of pure hatred rising in his chest as he answered her call.
“What?” he spat, and Melanie sobbed into the receiver while the background noise sounded like a hospital.
“Bradley, please!” Melanie cried, “Your mother came back to the room and threw my clothes in the hallway!”
“Good,” Nicholas spat, “I am glad she did because I never want to see you again.”
“You have to believe me!” she pleaded, but Nicholas was past the point of listening to any of her excuses.
“I am losing my company and my life because of you!” he roared, “And I do not care if the baby is mine or not.”
“They took my blood, and they are rushing a prenatal test,” she said, but Nicholas was finished with her.
“I am not waiting for anything,” he said, “if that kid is not mine, you are dead to me right now.”
He hung up, blocking her number with a vicious swipe of his thumb as he felt his rage turn to ash.
He slumped against the wall, sliding down until he hit the floor, wondering how he had traded his family for this lie.
Andrew walked slowly out of the office suite, holding a single piece of paper that looked like a death warrant.
He looked at Nicholas with a mixture of pity and disgust, and he held out the document for him to see.
“It is from the bank holding the commercial loan,” Andrew said, “they are calling it in due to the raid.”
“If we do not have three million dollars by tomorrow morning, they are seizing the collateral,” he explained.
Nicholas closed his eyes, knowing the collateral was everything he had worked for in his life.
Somewhere, ticking away like a time bomb, was the DNA test that would decide the final nail in his coffin.
The damp, cool air of London was a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of New York, and it felt like a blessing.
As we walked through the sliding glass doors of the terminal, the exhaustion of the flight was washed away by a familiar face.
William, an old college friend of my father’s who had relocated to the UK decades ago, stood holding a sign.
“Giselle, my dear girl,” William boomed, stepping forward to wrap me in a warm, paternal hug that made me feel safe.
“Thank you so much for coming, Uncle William,” I breathed, feeling the last tension release from my shoulders.
He pulled back, his eyes kind but sharp, taking in the dark circles under my eyes and the relief on my face.
“You did the right thing, the hardest thing, but the right thing for your children,” he said with conviction.
He knelt down to eye level with the children, and I felt proud of how brave they had been on the long journey.
“And who are these two weary travelers?” he asked, and they stepped forward to introduce themselves like little adults.
“Nice to meet you, sir,” Samuel said, and William chuckled at the boy’s politeness before leading us to the car.
The drive through the city was a dreamscape of historic architecture, and the gray skies felt peaceful to me.
We pulled up to a beautiful, ivy covered townhouse with a bright red door that looked like something out of a book.
It was not as massive as the penthouse, but as I turned the key, it felt like a real home for the first time.
The children immediately ran upstairs to claim their bedrooms, their laughter echoing down the oak staircase with joy.
William helped me bring the luggage into the sitting room, and I felt a sense of belonging I had never known.
“Your lawyer, Maxwell, called me while you were in the air,” William noted, and I asked him what he had said.
“It is a bloodbath,” William said, “the IRS raided his offices and the banks froze all of his assets.”
“Maxwell said Nicholas was spotted sitting on the floor of his own hallway, looking like a man who had seen his own funeral.”
I sipped the hot tea, letting the warmth spread through my chest as I felt no guilt for what happened.
I had given Nicholas ten years of loyalty, and he had repaid me by trying to leave me destitute in the street.
I simply handed him the consequences of his own actions, and now he had to live with the fallout.
“There is more,” William added softly, and I asked him to tell me what was happening in his world.
“Maxwell has arranged a meeting with Nicholas’s board of directors for tomorrow to present the evidence of his embezzlement.”
“It is highly likely they will vote to oust him to save the company’s reputation,” he said, and I looked out the window.
“Let them,” I said, “it is no longer my circus and no longer my concern what happens to him.”
Back in New York, the sun had set, casting long, ominous shadows across Nicholas’s empty apartment in the dark.
He sat there with an untouched glass of scotch in his hand, and the silence in the room was deafening to him.
He had spent the last eight hours calling every contact he thought he had, but no one picked up his calls.
In the brutal world of finance, a man under federal investigation was a walking contagion that everyone avoided.
A sharp knock at the door made him jump, and he stumbled to the entryway to see who it could be.
Standing in the dimly lit hall was Maxwell, my attorney, looking impeccably dressed and entirely unbothered by the late hour.
“What do you want?” Nicholas snarled, “Come to gloat about the ruin of my life?”
“I come bearing paperwork,” Maxwell said smoothly, slipping past Nicholas into the apartment without an invitation.
He placed a sleek black folder on the glass coffee table, and I could imagine the look of dread on Nicholas’s face.
“I have nothing left for you to take,” Nicholas spat, running a trembling hand through his messy hair in frustration.
“On the contrary,” Maxwell replied, unbuttoning his suit jacket with the cool confidence of a man in control.
“I am here to offer you a way out of federal prison,” he explained, and Nicholas froze in surprise at the offer.
“What?” Nicholas asked, and Maxwell began to explain the terms that would allow him to escape a long sentence.
“Giselle is not a cruel woman, she is a precise one,” Maxwell said, and he laid out the options for him.
“The embezzlement charges carry a potential ten year sentence,” he warned, but there was a way to avoid that fate.
“If you sign these documents, surrendering your remaining equity to Giselle, she will recant the federal complaint.”
“It would be classified as a marital misunderstanding,” he said, and Nicholas stared at the folder as if it were a snake.
“She wants my company,” Nicholas said, but Maxwell smiled a predatory grin that made the man feel small.
“She already has your company, Nicholas, because the board of directors held an emergency vote an hour ago.”
“You have been officially terminated as CEO, effective immediately,” he said, and Nicholas felt the walls closing in.
“Sign the papers, walk away with nothing, and stay out of a cell, that is the only deal on the table.”
Nicholas’s knees buckled and he fell onto the sofa, staring at the pen Maxwell held out to him with patience.
His phone on the table suddenly illuminated, and an email notification popped up on the locked screen from the clinic.
He ignored Maxwell, his shaking fingers reaching for his phone to open the email with the rush DNA results attached.
The neon glow of the city filtered through the blinds, casting prison bar shadows across his face as he read.
He scrolled past the medical jargon, his eyes searching for the final conclusion to his miserable saga of lies.
“Probability of Paternity: 0.00%,” it read, and Nicholas stared at the zeros as the air left his lungs in a gasp.
It was not his, and all of the cheating, the lies, and the destruction were for another man’s child all along.
He dropped the phone, and it shattered against the hardwood floor, a fitting metaphor for the life he had destroyed.
Maxwell stood patiently, offering the pen once more to the broken man who had finally hit the bottom.
“I assume the news was not to your liking,” Maxwell said, “so sign the papers, Nicholas, because it is over.”
With a numb movement, Nicholas took the pen and signed away his equity, his legacy, and his future in one go.
Maxwell gathered the documents, nodded curtly, and let himself out, leaving Nicholas alone in the ruins of his creation.
An hour later, the front door unlocked and Melanie stepped in, dragging a small suitcase and looking defeated.
Her eyes were red and puffy, and she looked at Nicholas with a mixture of fear and defiance in her gaze.
“I tried to call you,” she whispered, lingering in the foyer as if she were not sure she was welcome.
Nicholas remained seated in the dark, his voice cold as he told her he had gotten the results.
Melanie flinched, looking down at the floor as tears spilled over her cheeks in the dim light of the room.
“Bradley, please, I am so sorry,” she said, “and I did not know for sure who the father was until now.”
“It was my ex boyfriend, and it happened right before we became exclusive,” she admitted with a sob.
Nicholas stood up slowly, the rage having burned itself out into cold, dead ash that made him feel hollow.
