Chapter 17 - The Birthday Bloodbath
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Against all logic, Warren Caldwell refused to hide.
Two days after his forced resignation, Warren went ahead with his massive 65th birthday dinner at his private estate in La Jolla. It was a desperate, pathetic power play. He wanted to show the city that he was unbothered by the investigations, that he was still the untouchable patriarch of San Diego real estate.
Very few people showed up. The ballroom, prepared for two hundred guests, held barely fifty. Mostly loyalists, corrupt judges, and a few terrified investors who couldn't afford to jump ship.
Grant was there, drinking heavily at the bar. He looked haggard, his designer suit uncharacteristically wrinkled.
Veronica Pike was there, too. Without her father’s protection, she looked like a cornered animal. She kept her distance from Grant, nursing a vodka martini with shaking hands.
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the ballroom swung open.
Lena entered.
She wore a stunning black gown, the color of mourning. She no longer used the wheelchair; she walked slowly, leaning heavily on a silver-tipped cane, her chin held high. Marcus and Matthew Kane flanked her like dark angels.
The music ground to a halt. Guests froze with their drinks halfway to their mouths.
"You have a lot of nerve coming here," Warren slurred, stepping forward with a glass of scotch. "This is private property."
"It’s heavily mortgaged property, Warren," Lena corrected smoothly. "And since my holding company just bought the debt from your panicked lenders, technically, I own the floor you’re standing on."
Warren’s face flushed a violent crimson.
Grant stumbled forward, placing himself between his father and his wife. "Just leave us alone, Lena! You took the company! You sent the FBI after Charles! What more do you want from us?"
Lena looked at Veronica, who was trying to slip out a side door.
"I want the truth," Lena said, her voice echoing through the silent room. "Tell them, Veronica. Tell Grant why you really slept with him."
Veronica froze, her back against the heavy mahogany door.
"Shut up, Lena," Warren barked, suddenly looking terrified. "Security! Get her out of here!"
But no security came. Marcus had already cleared the perimeter.
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"Tell him, Veronica," Lena demanded, stepping closer. "Tell him about the baby."
Grant whipped his head around, staring at his mistress. "Baby? What baby?"
