Chapter 5 - The Return to Minneapolis
Reid caught the first red-eye flight from JFK to Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport.
He didn't call ahead. He didn't send an email or notify my office. Driven by a desperate, feverish compulsion that bordered on madness, he rented a nondescript sedan at the airport and drove straight through a blinding snowstorm to the North Loop neighborhood, his tires hissing against the slush-covered asphalt.
He had managed to track down my new business address through public state filings, and from there, a private investigator had discreetly provided him with my residential address in a converted brick industrial loft building near the river.
It was late afternoon when Reid pulled his sedan up to the curb outside the loft. Snow was falling in thick, heavy flakes, coating his wool coat in a layer of white frost as he stepped out of the vehicle. His face was gaunt, his eyes hollow and red-rimmed, the immaculate billionaire persona completely stripped away, leaving only a broken, desperate man.
He walked up the iron steps to the building’s secure entrance. He didn't need to buzz; as fate would have it, a courier was walking out of the building at that exact moment, holding the heavy glass door open against the wind. Reid slipped inside before the latch could catch.
His heart hammered wildly against his ribs as he climbed the flight of industrial stairs to the third floor, stopping in front of Loft 30B.
He stared at the heavy wooden door for a long, agonizing minute. His hand trembled as he raised his knuckles to knock. What would he say? How could he possibly ask for forgiveness after everything he had put me through? How could he look me in the eye when his life was reduced to ash and rubble?
Before his knuckles could touch the wood, the door clicked open from the inside.
I stood in the doorway, holding a stack of architectural blueprints in one hand and a mug of herbal tea in the other. I was wearing a comfortable cream-colored knit sweater and dark leggings.
And then, I stopped dead in my tracks.
The words froze in my throat. I stared at the man standing on my welcome mat.
Reid looked decades older than the man who had walked out of the Minneapolis courthouse nine months ago. His tailored suit was replaced by a rumpled, snow-dusted coat; his confident, arrogant smirk was replaced by a look of utter, soul-shattering devastation.
For a long moment, neither of us breathed. The wind whistled softly against the exterior windows of the loft building, filling the silence between us with the weight of everything that had happened, and everything that was about to be revealed.
"Claire," Reid whispered, his voice cracking violently, breaking under the immense weight of his tears. He didn't try to step inside. He simply sank slowly to his knees on the wooden welcome mat, burying his face in his hands as his shoulders shook with ragged, agonizing sobs. "Claire... God, Claire... I am so, so sorry."
I stood frozen in the doorway, my heart performing a wild, complicated acrobatic leap inside my chest. The anger I thought I had buried long ago flickered, but it was quickly overshadowed by a profound, heavy shock at the sheer wreckage of the man kneeling before me.
"Reid," I said, my voice barely audible above the hum of the heater. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"
Reid lifted his head, tears carving wet tracks through the stubble on his cheeks. His eyes—red, haunted, and pleading—searched my face with a desperation that cut straight to the bone.
"I lost everything, Claire," he choked out, his voice raw. "Ashford Media is gone. The board ousted me this morning. Vantage Global was a fraud, and my lawyers say I'm facing personal liability that could bankrupt me for the rest of my life. Marissa... Marissa packed her bags and left the minute the accounts were frozen. She didn't even say goodbye."
He paused, a bitter, self-loathing laugh escaping his lips before he looked up at me with absolute reverence and agony.
"You were right," Reid whispered, his voice trembling uncontrollably. "Every single word you said on those courthouse steps... you were right. I threw away the only real thing I ever had. I traded my soul for a reflection, and now I have nothing. I didn't come here to ask for your money, Claire. I didn't come here to drag you back into my mess. I just... I needed to see you one last time. I needed to look at the only person who ever truly loved me for who I was, before I disappear."
He bowed his head again, pressing his forehead against the wooden threshold of my doorway, utterly broken, surrendering every ounce of pride he had ever possessed.
I stood looking down at him. The man who had once ruled the tech world, the man who had looked at me with pity as he walked away with a runway model, was now kneeling in the snow outside my door, stripped of his empire, his wealth, and his arrogance.
My hand slowly moved away from the blueprints and came to rest flat against the gentle, undeniable curve of my protruding belly beneath the knit sweater.
The universe, it seemed, had one final, magnificent card to play.
"Get up, Reid," I said softly.
He didn't move. He just wept quietly against the wood.
"I said, get up, Reid Ashford," I repeated, my voice carrying a quiet, commanding authority that made him slowly lift his head and look up at me through his tears.
May you like
I stepped back, opening the heavy wooden door wider, and gestured with my chin toward the warm, brightly lit interior of the loft.
"Come inside out of the snow," I said, my voice steady and clear. "There is something you need to see before you decide your story ends here."
