Chapter 2 - The Shield of the Bennetts
While Cole was staring at the ruins of his empire in an empty penthouse, my black SUV was cutting through the white haze of upstate New York, heading toward the private estate of the Bennett family in Greenwich, Connecticut.
In the backseat, Noah’s fever had finally broken, thanks to the medication administered by the private nurse who met us at the garage. Lily was fast asleep, cradled in a heated travel bassinet.
I looked out the window at the passing snow-covered pines, feeling a sensation I hadn't felt in nearly three years: room to breathe.
When the vehicle pulled up the long, gated drive of the Bennett estate, the heavy iron gates swung open like the arms of an old protector. My grandfather had built this stone manor fifty years ago, long before Cole Whitmore was even a thought in the Manhattan social scene.
Standing on the wide stone porch, despite the freezing dawn wind, was Arthur Harris.
At seventy-two years old, Arthur was not just one of the most feared trust attorneys on the East Coast; he was a man who had sworn an oath to my late father, Judge William Bennett, to protect me from anyone who sought to tear down our family name.
The driver opened my door, and I stepped out, carrying Noah in my arms while the nurse carried Lily. Arthur stepped down the icy stairs, his sharp eyes taking in my appearance—my tired face, the subtle purple bruising peeking out from beneath the sleeve of my oversized coat where Cole had grabbed me two nights ago.
His jaw tightened, a flash of pure steel crossing his weathered face.
"Lauren," Arthur said, his voice deep and steady. "Welcome home, my dear."
"I stayed away too long, Arthur," I whispered, my voice cracking despite my best efforts to remain stoic.
"You are here now," Arthur replied, gently resting a heavy hand on my shoulder. "And that means the playing field has just changed entirely. Step inside. The fire is lit, and the team is already assembled."
Inside the grand library, where my father used to draft his legal opinions, three senior paralegals and two forensic accountants were already seated around a massive mahogany table covered in glowing laptops and stacks of legal briefs.
"Where do we stand?" I asked, settling Noah into a swing nearby and sitting down at the head of the table.
Arthur pulled up a master file on his monitor. "The moment you called me at midnight, we executed Clause 14 of the Bennett Family Trust. Because Cole fraudulently attempted to commingle trust dividends into his personal shell accounts over the past eighteen months, we exercised our legal right to unilaterally terminate all joint credit facilities, freeze all collateralized real estate—including the Central Park West penthouse—and revoke his corporate line of credit."
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He passed a thick document across to me.
"Cole Whitmore thinks he’s an investment prodigy," Arthur said with a dry, icy smile. "He forgot that eighty percent of his firm's liquidity was backed by your grandfather’s foundation. As of 5:00 AM, he isn't just broke, Lauren. He is exposed."
