Chapter 3 - The Midnight ConfrontationBy 11:00 PM, the Palmer House Hotel had been surrounded by thirty black armored vehicles belonging to Vance Security and the Federal Marshals.
The gala had been formally adjourned. Victoria Sullivan had been taken into custody by federal agents on charges of wire fraud and document falsification.
Inside the hotel's private executive penthouse suite, the air was electric with tension.
Noah and Sophie sat on a velvet sofa, eating fresh fruit tarts and drinking warm chocolate provided by Lucas Vance's team. Noah had his laptop open, quietly analyzing Sullivan Global's Q3 financial statements, while Sophie brushed her dark curls in the mirror.
I sat in a leather armchair near the fireplace, sipping warm tea, wearing my sapphire gown.
The heavy double mahogany doors of the suite pushed open.
Ethan Sullivan stepped into the room. He had removed his tuxedo jacket, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his dark hair disheveled. He looked like a man who had spent three hours standing in a hurricane.
Behind him stood his chief lieutenant, Sal, holding a leather briefcase.
Ethan stopped ten feet away from the sofa. His bloodshot storm-gray eyes locked onto Noah, then shifted to Sophie, and finally rested on me.
"Claire..." Ethan rasped out, his broad chest heaving, tears finally spilling over his dark lashes—the first time in his life he had ever wept. "Claire... my God... ten years..."
Noah looked up from his laptop screen, adjusting his glasses, looking at the billionaire mob boss with absolute, calm logic.
"Statistically speaking, Mr. Sullivan," Noah spoke smoothly, "you missed 3,650 days of bedtime stories, 20 birthday parties, and two emergency asthma treatments. If we calculate back-child support based on your declared net worth of $4.2 billion, you owe our mother approximately $142 million."
Ethan dropped to his knees right on the Persian rug.
The fearsome King of Chicago, a man whose nod could shatter corporate empires, knelt in front of his ten-year-old son and daughter, his broad shoulders shaking with silent, devastating sobs.
"I didn't know, son," Ethan wept into his hands, his voice cracked and broken. "I swear to God on my father's grave... I didn't know she was carrying you. If I had known... I would have burned the city to the ground before letting her leave."
Sophie put down her hairbrush. She walked slowly over to Ethan, stopping two feet away, her sparkling blue dress rustling softly against the rug.
"You threw thirty dollars at my mommy in the rain," Sophie said softly, her storm-gray eyes looking into his. "Mommy cried every night for two years while she worked three jobs at the bakery. Why didn't you look for her?"
Ethan lifted his head, tears streaming down his face. "I looked for her, sweetheart. For ten years... I thought she hated me and left because I was a monster. My mother showed me fake papers saying your mom moved to Europe with another man."
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He reached out trembling hands toward Sophie, stopping an inch away, afraid to touch her without permission.
"I was a fool," Ethan promised, his voice thick with a father's profound, agonizing remorse. "I was an arrogant, blind fool. But I will spend every second of the rest of my life making it right."
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