Chapter 4 - The Fall of the StockBy 9:15 P.M., the story had detonated across global media networks like a nuclear warhead.
The live television feed from the Drake Hotel had been broadcast to forty-five million viewers worldwide before Ethan’s public relations team could sever the satellite feed.
Social media platforms exploded with high-definition video clips of ten-year-old Noah calculating his father's paternal forfeiture and Sophie standing in her sapphire dress exposing Ethan's ten-year lie.
The hashtags burned across every major news network:
#SullivanTwins
#TheThirtyDollarLie
#ClaireSullivanReturns
Inside the private executive holding suite on the second floor of the Drake Hotel, Ethan sat behind a wide mahogany desk, his dark tuxedo jacket off, his silk tie ripped open at the collar, his dark hair disheveled, his eyes bloodshot and hollow.
Sitting across from him were his chief legal counsel, Arthur Hayes, and his chief financial officer, Marcus.
"Don Ethan," Marcus spoke nervously, sliding an encrypted tablet across the wood. "Trading in Asian and European pre-market futures has opened. Shares of Sullivan Group have plummeted twenty-four percent in forty-five minutes. Our primary institutional investors in London and Tokyo are demanding an emergency board meeting at sunrise."
Ethan didn't look at the tablet. He sat staring at a high-definition photograph printed from a news article—a photograph showing Noah and Sophie standing proudly beside me in the center of the Grand Ballroom.
"They have my face..." Ethan rasped out, his baritone cracked into raw, agonizing fragments of pure self-destruction. "My God... Arthur... Noah has my father's exact nose... and Sophie... she has my mother's smile..."
"Don Ethan," Arthur Hayes warned sharply, "Claire's attorney, Lucas Vance, has just filed an emergency petition in the Cook County Family Court. They aren't just suing for back child support. They are filing a civil fraud suit alleging that you used marital asset concealment during your divorce ten years ago."
Ethan’s head snapped up. "What... what do you mean marital asset concealment?"
"Ten years ago," Arthur explained, his voice shaking slightly, "your mother forced Claire to sign a waiver stating you possessed less than fifty thousand dollars in net assets. But our forensic audit shows that three weeks before the divorce was finalized, you transferred three million dollars in private maritime stock into an offshore shell account registered under your mother's name."
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Ethan dropped his face into his hands, letting out a raw, agonizing sob that shook his entire broad frame.
He hadn't just abandoned his pregnant wife. He had committed felony fraud to starve her out.
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