Chapter 6 - Desperate Pleas
Over the next forty-eight hours, the city of Chicago became a battleground that Adrian Moretti was entirely unprepared to fight.
He didn't sleep. The lights in the executive suite of Moretti Holdings on Wacker Drive remained lit throughout the night. But every phone call he made was met with ice. His banking partners demanded immediate debt-service verifications following the Sterling Trust's withdrawal. His board members, loyal to Vincenzo, called for an emergency session to review discretionary expenditures.
Meanwhile, Sophia realized she was drowning.
Cast out by Adrian and publicly humiliated at the Drake, she attempted to turn public opinion in her favor. She leaked an anonymous story to a local tabloid claiming that Claire Moretti had engineered a cruel smear campaign out of unwarranted jealousy. She painted herself as the innocent, grieving childhood friend who had merely supported Adrian through difficult times.
The tabloid ran the piece on Tuesday morning.
At noon, my legal team responded not with statements, but with certified banking records and hotel security footage. We released documentation proving that Reynolds Consulting had received millions in irregular corporate disbursements while failing to provide a single consulting deliverable. Simultaneously, Ethan Walker himself issued an official public statement on behalf of his family, stating that Adrian’s behavior at the wedding had been uninvited and deeply disrespectful to the hosts.
The social fallout was instant. Sophia’s invitations to upcoming galas were revoked overnight. Luxury boutiques on Michigan Avenue quietly canceled her private lines of credit.
Adrian arrived at my office building on LaSalle Street in the middle of a torrential downpour. He bypassed building security using an old executive pass that hadn't yet been deactivated, barging into the private conference room where I was reviewing maritime portfolio transfers.
He was soaked to the bone. His designer coat hung heavy from his shoulders, and his eyes were wild.
"Claire, stop it," he pleaded, dropping to one knee beside my chair. The arrogant king of Chicago was kneeling on the carpet, clutching at the hem of my jacket. "Please. I don't care about the board. I don't care about the shipping terminals. Take them. Give them to your father. Just come home. I can't breathe in that penthouse without you."
I looked down at him. A year ago, this sight would have torn my heart to shreds. Now, I felt only a profound, hollow pity.
"You don't miss me, Adrian," I said, pulling my sleeve gently from his grip. "You miss the stability I provided. You miss the prestige of having a wife who protected your flanks while you indulged your fantasies."
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"That's not true! I love you! I swear to God, Claire, I haven't touched Sophia since the day we said our vows!"
"Infidelity isn't only about the body, Adrian," I replied softly. "You gave her my honor. You gave her my place. And you gave her the memory of your grandmother. You can never take that back."
