Chapter 2 - The Aftermath at Whitmore Crown
While I lay in a recovery room at Nashville General holding my daughter, the luxury halls of Whitmore Crown were descending into chaos.
Grant Whitmore stood in the grand marble atrium of the hospital’s VIP wing, his face white as salt.
The white rose petals that had been scattered along the red carpet leading to Operating Room Three were now crushed under the boots of medical staff and security guards. The media representatives who had been invited for the "Fifth Anniversary Miracle Baby" photo opportunity were whispering frantically in corners, holding their cameras low.
"Where is she?!" Grant screamed at the charge nurse, his voice echoing off the glass dome ceiling. "What do you mean she was transferred?!"
"Mr. Whitmore, your wife revoked your medical power of attorney forty minutes ago," the nurse stammered, holding an iPad with trembling hands. "She named attorney Marcus Vance as her legal guardian. When her hemorrhage began, Nurse Ethan Cole bypassed internal administration and called Metro EMS. She was taken to Nashville General."
"Nashville General?!" Grant roared, slamming his fist against the mahogany reception desk. "That public gutter?! Are you insane?! Move her back here immediately! Call our transport team!"
"We can't, sir," the nurse said, shrinking back. "Nashville General has placed a total legal lock on her records under Mr. Vance's orders. You are listed as a restricted party. If you step onto their property, campus security has orders to arrest you for trespassing."
Grant’s chest heaved. He reached for his phone, his fingers shaking as he dialed my number.
“The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer accepting calls from this caller.”
He dialed again. The same automated message.
"Grant..."
A soft, tearful voice called out from behind him.
Natalie Reed was sitting in a plush leather wheelchair, pushed by a private nurse. She was wrapped in a cashmere blanket, holding her newborn son in her arms. Her face was artfully pale, her eyes wide and full of delicate sorrow.
"Grant, what's happening?" Natalie whimpered, reaching out to clutch his rain-stained jacket sleeve. "The reporters are asking questions. Daniel's lawyers are outside claiming he has full custody rights to the baby... Grant, you promised me today would be perfect. You promised me this baby would be the face of Whitmore Crown."
Grant looked down at Natalie. For the first time in six months, the intoxicating spell she held over him cracked.
He looked at her perfectly styled hair, her baby wrapped in designer silk, and then he looked down at his own shoes.
There was a drop of dark, drying blood on the toe of his leather shoe.
My blood.
"Natalie, shut up," Grant snapped, yanked his arm out of her grip.
Natalie gasped, recoiling as if he had struck her. "Grant! How can you speak to me like that after everything I've been through?!"
"My wife was hemorrhaging!" Grant hissed, stepping closer to her wheelchair, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and mounting panic. "She took her wedding ring off! She revoked my rights! Do you have any idea what happens to this hospital's stock if Claire files a public misconduct suit?!"
"She won't file a suit," Natalie said quickly, her delicate voice turning sharp and calculating. "Claire loves you. She's weak, Grant. She’s always been weak. She’s just throwing a tantrum because she wanted the attention today. Once you go over there with some flowers and apologize, she'll come crawling back. She needs you."
Grant stared at Natalie, a cold knot forming in his stomach.
For five years, he had believed his mother when she said Natalie was the grand love of his life—the delicate, refined woman he was meant to be with. He had viewed me as the dependable, workhorse wife who built his business while demanding nothing in return.
But as he looked at Natalie sitting in her luxury wheelchair, complaining about reporters while my blood dried on his shoe, a terrible realization washed over him.
He hadn't left a weak woman in that delivery room.
He had left the woman who built Whitmore Crown. And he had just handed her every reason to destroy him.
Suddenly, the glass entrance doors of the atrium slid open.
Three men in sharp charcoal suits walked into the lobby. At the head of the group was Marcus Vance—Nashville’s most formidable corporate litigation attorney, a man whose name made board directors sweat.
Grant straightened his tie, trying to regain his dominant corporate posture. "Marcus. I assume you're here to arrange Claire's return to our VIP suite? I've already prepared the top-floor penthouse—"
Marcus didn't shake his hand. He stopped three feet away, pulling a thick white envelope from his inner jacket pocket and handing it directly to Grant.
"Grant Whitmore," Marcus said, his voice ringing through the quieted lobby. "You are hereby served with a formal petition for absolute divorce on the grounds of gross marital misconduct, severe medical neglect, and breach of fiduciary duty."
Grant stared at the paper. "This is ridiculous. I am her husband and her medical proxy—"
"You were her medical proxy until 08:14 AM," Marcus interrupted ruthlessly. "And as of 09:00 AM, the Chancery Court of Davidson County has issued an emergency temporary restraining order. You are forbidden from approaching within five hundred feet of Claire Whitmore or your newborn daughter, Evelyn."
Grant froze. "Evelyn?"
"Your daughter's name is Evelyn," Marcus said, his eyes cold as flint. "Not that you cared to ask while you were posing with another man's child for press photos."
Natalie jumped out of her wheelchair, her blanket slipping. "Now see here, Mr. Vance! This is a private medical facility! You can't speak to Grant like this!"
Marcus didn't even glance at her. He turned back to Grant.
May you like
"Oh, and Grant?" Marcus added smoothly. "The State Board of Medical Examiners and the District Attorney's office have both received copies of the labor ward telemetry logs from this morning. I suggest you retain a criminal defense attorney by noon."
Marcus turned on his heel and walked out, leaving Grant standing in the center of his luxury atrium as the press cameras finally began to flash.
