Chapter 2 - THE BABY WHO CAME TOO SOON
The ambulance doors slammed shut above me.
"Thirty-three weeks pregnant, premature rupture, active bleeding," a paramedic called.
Another contraction hit before he finished speaking.
I grabbed the edge of the stretcher.
"My baby."
"We're taking care of both of you."
"Her father—"
I stopped.
For the first time since the gates closed, I realized Grant didn't deserve that word.
The paramedic cut through the lower part of my soaked dress while another strapped monitors around my belly.
A rapid heartbeat filled the ambulance.
My daughter's.
Fast.
Too fast.
"Fetal tachycardia," someone said.
I didn't understand the numbers flashing above me, but I understood their faces.
Something was wrong.
"Ma'am, what hospital does your obstetrician use?"
"St. Catherine Medical Center."
The driver accelerated.
My phone was buried somewhere inside one of the trash bags Grant's security guards had thrown into the rain.
I had no purse.
No wallet.
No shoes.
Only the diamond wedding ring still cutting into my swollen finger.
When we reached St. Catherine, nurses surrounded me before the stretcher stopped moving.
Dr. Priya Raman, my obstetrician, appeared moments later.
Her face changed when she saw me.
"Caroline? What happened?"
"My husband threw me out."
She blinked.
"What?"
"My water broke. There was blood. He—"
Another contraction stole the sentence.
Dr. Raman squeezed my hand.
"Forget him. Look at me."
I did.
"Your baby's heart rate is dropping between contractions. We're going upstairs now."
"Is she going to die?"
"We are going to do everything necessary to prevent that."
It wasn't the reassurance I wanted.
It was the truth.
Twenty minutes later, I was beneath operating-room lights.
The fetal monitor changed from rapid beeping to an alarm.
Dr. Raman looked toward the anesthesiologist.
"We're not waiting."
Someone placed a surgical consent form near my hand.
"We need to perform an emergency C-section."
My fingers shook so badly I could barely sign.
The spinal anesthesia took effect quickly.
I stared at the ceiling while doctors worked behind the blue surgical curtain.
I had imagined my daughter's birth a thousand times.
Grant beside me.
Music playing softly.
His hand holding mine.
Our families waiting outside.
Instead, I was alone.
Then the room went strangely quiet.
"Why isn't she crying?"
Nobody answered.
"Why isn't my baby crying?"
A nurse leaned close.
"She's with the neonatal team."
"Is she alive?"
Seconds stretched into eternity.
Then I heard it.
A tiny sound.
Weak.
Angry.
Beautiful.
A cry.
I sobbed.
"She's alive."
"She's alive," the nurse confirmed.
I only saw her for five seconds.
A impossibly small face beneath a knitted pink cap.
A nurse brought her near me before rushing her toward the NICU.
"Three pounds, eleven ounces," someone said.
I touched her cheek with one finger.
"Grace."
"What?"
"Her name is Grace."
Then she disappeared through the doors.
I cried until exhaustion swallowed me.
When I woke, it was dark outside.
The first person sitting beside my hospital bed wasn't Grant.
It was Maya Chen.
My best friend from college and one of Chicago's best corporate litigators.
Her normally perfect black hair was twisted into a messy knot, and fury had replaced her usual courtroom calm.
She stood the moment I opened my eyes.
"Oh, thank God."
"Grace?"
"In the NICU. Stable. She's breathing with assistance, but Dr. Raman says she's fighting."
I closed my eyes.
"Can I see her?"
"As soon as your blood pressure stabilizes."
Maya hesitated.
"Caroline, I need you to tell me exactly what happened."
So I did.
The blouse.
Vivien.
The security guards.
Meridian Residential Holdings.
The eviction papers.
The driveway.
Grant stepping over me.
By the time I finished, Maya's expression had become terrifyingly still.
"Did you sign anything transferring the house?"
"No."
"Ever?"
"No."
"Did Grant have power of attorney?"
"Absolutely not."
"Then he couldn't legally transfer your ownership interest without your signature."
"He said I don't own it anymore."
"Grant says many things."
She opened her laptop.
"I pulled the county recording twenty minutes ago."
My pulse increased.
"And?"
"The deed was transferred ninety-four days ago from Grant Ashford and Caroline Ashford, husband and wife, to Meridian Residential Holdings LLC."
I stared at her.
"There has to be my signature."
"There is."
My blood turned cold.
"But I never signed it."
"I know."
She rotated the laptop.
There it was.
My name.
Caroline Elizabeth Ashford.
Underneath it sat a signature that looked almost exactly like mine.
Almost.
Except I always crossed the final stroke of the A through the middle.
This signature didn't.
"That's forged."
"I believe you."
"Who notarized it?"
Maya enlarged the page.
"Leonard Price."
I recognized the name immediately.
Grant's chief financial officer.
My stomach tightened.
"His CFO can notarize documents?"
"He maintains a commission."
I stared at the screen.
"Grant forged my signature and had his own CFO notarize it?"
"It appears that way."
"Why would a billionaire risk criminal charges just to steal a house he could afford ten times over?"
Maya's eyes met mine.
"That's exactly the question bothering me."
Before I could respond, someone knocked.
A man in a gray suit entered holding a folder.
"Caroline Ashford?"
Maya stood.
"Who are you?"
"Process server."
He extended the envelope.
Maya took it before he could approach my bed.
"What the hell is this?"
The man left without answering.
Maya opened the documents.
I watched her expression change.
"What?"
"Grant filed for divorce this afternoon."
I laughed once.
It sounded broken.
"Of course he did."
"There's more."
Her jaw tightened.
"He filed an emergency petition alleging that you've exhibited unstable behavior during pregnancy, abandoned the marital residence after a domestic dispute, and made threats against him and Ms. Sparks."
For several seconds I couldn't speak.
"He threw me into the rain."
"I know."
"He says I abandoned the house?"
"I know."
"And what threats?"
"He claims you threatened to destroy his company."
"I didn't even know about Vivien until this morning."
Maya turned another page.
"He's requesting temporary exclusive occupancy of the mansion and emergency control over several joint financial accounts."
My heart started pounding.
"Can he get it?"
"Not once we're finished."
But something in her voice told me she was worried.
I looked toward the NICU wing beyond the hallway.
"What about Grace?"
Maya hesitated.
That hesitation frightened me more than the documents.
"What about my daughter?"
"Grant also included a request for temporary decision-making authority after the baby is discharged."
I felt physically sick.
"He wants custody?"
"Not full custody. Yet."
My hands curled into fists against the blanket.
Grant had thrown me out while I was in premature labor.
Now he wanted to tell a judge I was unstable.
Maya pulled her chair closer.
"Listen to me. We're going to fight him. But from this moment forward, you don't call Grant. You don't answer Vivien. You don't post anything online. Every word goes through me."
I nodded.
"There's something else you need to know," she continued.
"What?"
"I ran Meridian Residential Holdings through corporate records."
"And?"
"It wasn't formed three months ago."
I stared at her.
Maya slowly closed the laptop.
"It was formed nineteen months ago."
Long before Grant transferred the mansion.
Long before the red blouse.
Long before my pregnancy.
"And the house isn't the only property Grant transferred into it."
"How many?"
Maya looked directly at me.
"At least fourteen."
I stopped breathing.
"Commercial buildings?"
"Buildings. Land. Development rights. Approximately two hundred and eighty million dollars in recorded assets."
"Why?"
"I don't know yet."
Then Maya pulled one final sheet from the folder.
"But Caroline... every one of those transfers happened after the date Grant refinanced Ashford Urban Partners."
I knew that deal.
I had helped him prepare parts of it before my pregnancy.
The loan covenants prohibited transferring major assets without lender approval.
If Grant had moved hundreds of millions into a shell company, he could have triggered default across half his empire.
"This isn't about our divorce," I whispered.
"No."
Maya's voice dropped.
"This house is just one piece."
She leaned toward me.
"I think your husband may have used your forged signature to hide a massive financial fraud."
Before I could answer, my bedside phone rang.
The nurse picked it up.
Her expression sharpened.
"Mrs. Ashford, the NICU needs you upstairs immediately."
My heart stopped.
"What's wrong with my daughter?"
The nurse was already unlocking the wheels of my bed.
May you like
"Grace's oxygen levels just crashed."
And suddenly Grant's empire didn't matter at all.
