He turned and walked away, his polished leather shoes clicking rhythmically down the corridor, passing framed photos of smiling newborns and hopeful parents that mocked the transaction that had just occurred. Behind him, three infants fought for air in clear plastic incubators, already fatherless.
By morning, I would wake up divorced, uninsured, and legally powerless. Grant, meanwhile, rode the elevator down to the underground garage where his black Mercedes waited, engine purring.
He checked his phone. A message from Bel Knox lit the screen: Is it done?
He typed back one word: Yes.
As the car pulled into the thick Manhattan traffic, Grant allowed himself a thin smile. The timing was perfect. No messy custody battles, no medically fragile wife slowing him down. In six weeks, his company would enter its most important funding round. Investors wanted strength, not sentiment. They wanted a man who cut ties cleanly.
