Chapter 3 - The Seven Percent
The private elevator ascended toward the penthouse suite in absolute silence for the first three floors.
Grace stared at the digital floor indicator as the numbers climbed: 4, 5, 6. Her exterior remained flawless, a masterpiece of diamond-cut composure. But beneath her cashmere coat, her fingernails dug into the soft calfskin of the folder she held against her ribs.
"Your heart rate is up," Declan remarked quietly without looking at her.
"I am pregnant, Declan. My resting heart rate is supposed to be elevated."
"That wasn't biology speaking down there. That was adrenaline." Declan turned his head slightly, watching her profile. "You did well. Better than I expected."
"Did you expect me to throw an umbrella at his mistress?"
"I expected tears. Or hesitation." Declan’s jaw tightened. "Most people crumble when the lie they’ve lived for six years falls apart in front of strangers."
"I stopped living that lie six months ago," Grace said softly. "The moment I found the offshore accounts in the Cayman subsidiary, I stopped being Ethan’s wife. I became his undertaker."
The elevator chimed at the penthouse level.
The doors opened directly into a panoramic expanse of ocean and sky. Floor-to-ceiling glass framed the turquoise waters of Anse des Flamands. Sitting around a massive mahogany conference table inside the air-conditioned sanctuary were four men in bespoke linen suits: Grace’s private forensic accountant, two senior partners from Kirkland & Ellis, and Marcus Vance—Ethan’s uncle and the largest minority shareholder of Vance Enterprises.
Marcus stood up immediately as Grace and Declan walked in. His face was lined with strain.
"Grace," Marcus said, his voice heavy with guilt. "Did you see him downstairs?"
"He was hard to miss," Grace replied, slipping off her coat and draping it over the back of an armchair. She took the seat at the head of the table. "He brought Vanessa. And my corporate card."
Marcus winced, running a hand through his graying hair. "God help him. He’s completely lost his mind. He thinks he’s untouchable because his father built the foundational charter."
"His father built the charter," Declan said, taking the seat directly to Grace’s right, "but your father funded seventy percent of the capital injection that kept it alive during the 2008 collapse, Marcus. And under the original covenants, the voting control doesn't belong to Ethan."
Declan pulled a silver pen from his jacket and placed it on the table.
"Ethan has eighty-two million dollars in short-term commercial paper maturing this Friday," Declan said, addressing the room. "He assumed he could refinance through his London contacts. He doesn't know that Pierce Global bought that paper at a six percent discount two weeks ago."
Grace opened her folder. Inside lay three pristine legal certificates.
"He needs ninety-one million to settle the notes, or the company defaults into forced liquidation," Grace said, her voice steady and clinical. "He thinks he owns fifty-one percent of the equity. But he forgot the legacy clause."
Marcus nodded grimly. "The legacy clause. The seven percent gift given to the first unborn heir of the primary lineage upon documented medical viability."
Grace placed her hand on her abdomen.
"I submitted the ultrasound and genetic certification to the corporate trust in Delaware yesterday," Grace said. "The seven percent has officially vested in my name as legal custodian for my child."
She looked directly at Declan, then around the table.
May you like
"Ethan doesn't have fifty-one percent anymore. He has forty-four. I hold seven. Marcus holds twenty. And Declan’s debt conversion is about to wipe out the rest."
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