Chapter 25 Grant
GRANT
I’m standing in my office staring at nothing when the reality hits me properly.
I’m going to be a father again.
At fifty-two years old, with three grown sons and an empire to manage, I’m going to have another child.
I sink into my chair and let myself remember.
Donovan was born when I was twenty-two. Catherine and I had been married less than a year, still figuring out how to be husband and wife, when suddenly we had to figure out how to be parents.
I was building the legitimate side of the business then, trying to prove I could be more than my father’s criminal legacy.
Working eighteen-hour days, coming home to a screaming infant and a wife who looked at me like I was supposed to have answers.
I didn’t have answers. I barely knew how to hold him without feeling like I might break him.
But I learned. We both learned.
I remember the first time Donovan wrapped his tiny hand around my finger. The way his eyes focused on my face like I was the most important thing in his world. The responsibility of that nearly crushed me.
This small person depended on me completely. Trusted me to keep him safe, fed, and alive.
I couldn’t fail him.
Logan came three years later, and Catherine’s pregnancy was difficult. She was on bed rest for the last three months. I hired nurses and made sure she had everything she needed while managing a three-year-old and a business that was finally turning serious profit.
When Logan was born a month early, small and struggling to breathe on his own, I spent three days in the NICU watching him through an incubator. Terrified I was going to lose him before I even got to know him.
He survived. Got stronger. Came home.
By the time Kai was born, two years after Logan, I thought I knew what I was doing. Thought the third time would be easier because I’d already survived the infant stage twice.
I was wrong.
Kai had colic. Screamed for hours every night. Nothing soothed him except being held and walked around the house in endless circles. Catherine would take the first shift, then wake me at two in the morning when she couldn’t handle it anymore.
I’d walk him through the house, bouncing and swaying and singing songs I barely remembered the words to. His little body would be rigid with discomfort, fists clenched, face red from crying.
And then suddenly, he’d relax. Melt into my chest. Fall asleep with his mouth open and his breathing soft against my neck.
Those were the moments that made the exhaustion worth it.
Catherine died when Kai was eight. Car accident on a wet road. Instant. The police said she didn’t suffer.
Small comfort when I had to tell three boys their mother wasn’t coming home.
I raised them alone after that. Built the empire while making sure they had everything they needed. Donovan stepped into the role of second parent before he was even a teenager. Kai became the wild one who needed constant supervision. And Logan just got lost somewhere in the middle.
I did my best. But clearly it wasn’t enough, because Logan has turned into a man I barely recognize, and I can’t figure out where I went wrong.
Now I’m getting another chance.
Another baby. Another opportunity to do better.
And maybe this one will be a girl.
The thought makes me laugh out loud. Three sons, and I’ve never even considered what it would be like to have a daughter. Would she look like her mother? Would she have Samantha’s sharp eyes and sharper mind? Would I know how to raise a girl when I barely figured out how to raise boys?
I hope it’s a girl. I hope I get to experience that.
But even if it’s another boy, I’ll love him just the same. I’ll do better this time. I’ll be present and engaged and make sure this child knows he’s wanted.
My phone buzzes with a text from Kai.
Kai: We should start building the nursery this week. I already have ideas.
Me: Your ideas usually involve fire hazards.
Kai: That was ONE TIME, and I was sixteen.
I smile and set down the phone. My sons are excited. Already planning, preparing, and treating this like the blessing it is.
Which makes Samantha’s reaction even more concerning.
She should be happy. Scared, maybe, but fundamentally happy. Instead, she looked devastated when she told us that the pregnancy was the worst thing that could have happened instead of the best.
I tell myself it’s normal. First pregnancy, unexpected, with three men in an unconventional arrangement. Of course she’s overwhelmed.
But something in my gut says it’s more than that.
I’ve built an empire by trusting my instincts about people. Reading the tells that indicate when someone is lying or hiding information. And every instinct I have is screaming that Samantha is hiding something significant.
I need to talk to her. Need to make sure she’s actually okay with this pregnancy and not just going along with what we want.
I head out of my office toward her room. The hallway is quiet, and most of the staff are occupied with their afternoon tasks. When I reach her door, I hear her voice.
She’s on the phone.
“I can’t keep doing this,” she says, voice tight with stress. “You don’t understand the pressure I’m under.”
I pause outside the door, not quite eavesdropping but not announcing myself either.
“I know what I promised,” she continues. “But everything’s different now. I can’t just—” She stops. Listens. “No. No, I’m not backing out. I just need more time.”
Silence.
“I have to go.” Her voice drops lower. “I’ll call you later. Goodbye.”
I knock and push open the door.
She’s sitting on her bed, phone in her hand, face pale.
“Were you on a call?” I ask casually.
“What?” She shoves the phone into her pocket. “No. No, I wasn’t on a call.”
The lie is immediate. Reflexive. And completely transparent.
I just heard her say goodbye to someone, and now she’s telling me she wasn’t on the phone.
“Are you sure?” I step into the room. “I thought I heard you talking.”
“I was just—I was thinking out loud. Practicing what to say for a work presentation.” She’s talking too fast, words tumbling over each other. “You know how I get when I’m nervous about client calls.”
Another lie.
I’ve watched her handle client calls. She’s confident, prepared, and never nervous enough to pace her room, rehearsing presentations.
“Alright.” I let it go. “I wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re feeling okay after this morning.”
“I’m fine.” She wraps her arms around herself. “Just tired.”
“Samantha.” I move closer. “If something’s wrong, you can tell me. You know that, right?”
For a moment, she looks like she might actually confess whatever she’s hiding. Her eyes fill with tears, and her mouth opens. Then she closes it and shakes her head. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just adjusting to everything. The pregnancy, the changes. It’s a lot.”
“It is a lot,” I agree. “But we’re here. Whatever you need, we’ll handle it together.”
“Thank you.” Her voice is barely a whisper.
I pull her into a hug, and she clings to me like I’m the only solid thing in her world. I hold her until her breathing steadies, then kiss the top of her head. “Get some rest. Doctor’s appointment is tomorrow morning.”
“Okay.”
I leave her there and head back to my office with more questions than answers.
Who was she talking to? Who is she promising things to? What pressure is she under that she can’t tell us about?
My first thought is Logan. Maybe she’s been in contact with him. Maybe he knows about the pregnancy and is demanding something. Money. Access. Revenge for how things ended.
The thought makes my jaw tighten. If Logan is harassing her, I’ll handle it. Permanently.
But something tells me this is bigger than Logan. The fear in her voice wasn’t about an ex-boyfriend. It was about something that genuinely terrifies her.
I sit at my desk and pull up my secure contacts. The investigator who handles sensitive matters for the family. The one who doesn’t ask questions and doesn’t leave trails.
I type out a message.
Me: Need a comprehensive background on Samantha Allen.
Previous investigation was surface level.
Go deeper. Family connections, friends, any communications from the past year.
Focus on her stepfather Robert and any Chicago contacts.
Also check if she’s been in communication with Logan Hale.
I need to know who she’s talking to and what she’s hiding.
The response comes within minutes.
Davis: Understood. I’ll have preliminary information within 48 hours. Full report by end of week.
Me: Make it 24 hours for preliminary. This is priority.
Davis: Done.
I set down the phone and lean back in my chair.
I don’t want to spy on the woman carrying my child. Don’t want to investigate someone I’m falling in love with. But I also can’t ignore the evidence in front of me.
She lied about the phone call. Lied to my face without hesitation, which means she’s been lying about other things too.
Her relationship with Logan never made sense. She’s too smart, too capable, too interesting to have stayed with him through multiple instances of cheating. People don’t tolerate that level of disrespect unless they’re getting something else out of the relationship.
What was she getting?
Access to the family? Information? Something else entirely?
And who is she reporting to?
I pull up the background check we did when she first arrived. It’s clean.
I need to know what she’s hiding before this goes any further. Before the baby comes and binds us together permanently.
Because if she’s a threat to my family, I need to neutralize that threat.
Even if it destroys me to do it.