“I’ll have my assistant settle any outstanding bills.”
The nurse stared at him almost speechless.
“That wasn’t what I meant,” the nurse said, but the elevator doors had already closed.
Back at Caldwell Capital, nothing had changed. Trading screens flashed green across the executive floor.
Analysts hurried between conference rooms. Phones rang without stopping.
Ethan stepped into the boardroom precisely at 1:00.
“Let’s begin.”
No one mentioned the baby. No one mentioned Claire.
They discussed quarterly earnings, private equity acquisitions, a pending merger worth nearly $300 million. For the next four hours, Ethan was completely focused.
He negotiated, questioned, calculated, exactly as he always had. When the meeting finally ended, the board chairman clapped him lightly on the shoulder.
“Congratulations.”
Ethan looked confused.
“For what?”
“The baby.”
“Oh.”
He gave a polite smile.
“Thank you.”
Nothing more. Watching him walk away, one director quietly whispered to another, “Does he even know his son’s birthday?”
Claire used to joke that she had married Wall Street itself. The market always came first.
Clients came second. Investors came third.
Everything else competed for whatever time remained. When they first met seven years earlier, none of that had bothered her.
Ethan wasn’t rich yet. Caldwell Capital occupied only one rented office floor in Midtown.
There were just twelve employees. He worked until midnight because he had to, not because he wanted to.
Back then, Claire admired his ambition. She remembered bringing sandwiches to the office because he kept forgetting to eat.
She remembered helping him proofread investor presentations. She remembered staying awake beside him while he built financial models that eventually convinced his first institutional client.
