“I’m no longer her husband,” Adrian interrupted, snapping the folder closed. The sound echoed sharply. “Contact her family.”
“There’s no other family listed,” the doctor said, confused.
Adrian glanced at his watch. “Then update the file.”
He walked away, his polished shoes clicking across the floors of St. Matthew’s Medical Center in Chicago. On the walls hung photos of smiling newborns and grateful parents. Behind him, three tiny infants struggled for air inside incubators, almost fatherless before they had taken their first full breath.
By morning, I would wake up divorced, uninsured, and legally exposed. Adrian would already be in his black Bentley, driving toward downtown.
His phone lit up with a message from Vanessa Cole.
Is it done?
He replied with one word.
Yes.
As traffic swallowed him along Lake Shore Drive, he allowed himself a thin smile. The timing was flawless. No custody complications. No fragile wife distracting him. In weeks, his company would enter a critical investment round. Investors valued decisiveness, not vulnerability.