Chapter 6 - The Billionaire's Tower
We drove straight from Vermont to Manhattan, navigating the chaotic city traffic.
Bennett Logistics was located in a towering, glass-fronted skyscraper in the financial district.
The lobby was heavily guarded by men in dark suits with earpieces.
I walked straight up to the marble security desk, carrying the velvet strongbox under my arm.
“I am here to see Arthur Bennett,” I told the massive security guard.
He looked at my casual clothes and frowned.
“Do you have an appointment?” he asked gruffly.
“No, but I have something that belongs to him,” I replied.
I opened the strongbox right there on the counter and pulled out the vintage photograph of my parents.
“My name is Claire Bennett. I am his granddaughter.”
The guard stared at the photo, then looked closely at my face.
He recognized the striking resemblance immediately.
“Wait here,” he instructed, picking up a red telephone on his desk.
Ten agonizing minutes later, the private elevator doors opened.
An elegant, older woman stepped out, looking furious.
“Are you the girl who called the office yesterday?” she demanded.
“I am Arthur’s chief of staff, and I will not allow you to extort a grieving man.”
“I am not here for his money,” I said firmly, holding out my grandmother’s diary.
“I am here because David and Susan lied to him.”
“They told him I died in the crash so they could steal my maternal inheritance.”
The woman looked at the old diary, hesitating.
“Let me see that,” a deep, gravelly voice echoed through the lobby.
I turned around and saw him.
Arthur Bennett looked older and more tired than his corporate photos, walking with a silver-tipped cane.
He stared at me, his sharp blue eyes wide with absolute shock.
“Eleanor?” he whispered, using my mother’s name.
“No, sir,” I replied, my voice shaking with emotion.
“I am Claire.”
Arthur dropped his cane, the wooden stick clattering loudly against the marble floor.
He walked toward me, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch my face.
“You have her eyes,” he gasped, tears spilling down his wrinkled cheeks.
“They told me you burned in the car.”
“They sent me ashes in a tiny urn.”
My stomach churned at the absolute depravity of my aunt and uncle's lies.
“They lied, Grandpa,” I cried, the word feeling strange but beautiful on my tongue.
Arthur pulled me into a fierce, desperate embrace, sobbing loudly in the middle of the corporate lobby.
I hugged him back, finally feeling the unconditional love I had been denied my entire life.
He pulled away, wiping his eyes, and looked at the security guards.
“Clear my schedule for the rest of the week,” Arthur barked, his authoritative tone returning.
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“And get my legal team on the phone immediately.”
“We have twenty years of stolen time to make up for, and someone is going to pay dearly for it.”
