I knew all about their struggle to secure those loans.

My marketing agency, Apex Media, had been tracking the Bradford group’s financial movements for months.

I had watched their stock dip, their creditors grow restless, and their board struggle to maintain control.

For the past year, I had spent late nights in my downtown office, reviewing their public filings and speaking with distressed lenders.

I knew the Bradford empire was a hollow shell, held together by old name recognition and massive debt.

They had spent millions trying to keep their slipping grip on Chicago real estate.

“Twenty million is a very generous offer, Clara,” Grandfather Bradford said, leaning forward.

“It ensures your children will never want for anything.”

“It also ensures they remain your little secret,” I said.

“It protects everyone involved,” the old man replied.

Owen tugged on my skirt, his small hand warm against my leg.

“Mommy, I want to go home,” Owen whispered.

“Just a few more minutes, sweetheart,” I said, kissing the top of his head.

I looked back at Grandfather Bradford.

The old man believed he could buy his way out of any crisis.