Chapter 4 - The Public Trial
By Monday morning, the Lake Geneva wedding disaster had become the single most viral news story in North America.
Video footage taken by high-society guests—showing Eleanor’s glass shattering on the balcony, my entrance with the three boys, and Ethan kneeling in the grass—had been viewed over forty million times across social media platforms within thirty-six hours.
“THE REVENGE OF SIENNA STERLING: UNWED MOTHER TOLLS THE BELL FOR CHICAGO’S OLDEST DYNASTY” “MONTGOMERY GLOBAL SHARES PLUMMET 45% FOLLOWING EMBEZZLEMENT REVELATIONS”
At 8:45 AM, the glass-and-steel skyscraper housing Vanguard Global Media in downtown Chicago was surrounded by news vans, reporters, and camera crews.
Inside the top-floor executive boardroom, I sat at the head of a twenty-foot glass conference table, dressed in a sharp ivory wool suit. Beside me sat my chief legal council, Marcus Vance, and three forensic accountants from the Securities and Exchange Commission.
The heavy mahogany doors opened precisely at 9:00 AM.
Ethan Montgomery walked in.
He didn't wear his usual arrogant corporate demeanor. He wore a simple dark suit, his tie loosened, dark circles under his eyes revealing he hadn't slept a single hour in two days. He walked into the room alone.
No corporate lawyers. No public relations team. And most importantly, no Eleanor.
"Sienna," Ethan said quietly, stopping across the table from me.
"Sit down, Ethan," I said, gesturing to the chair opposite mine.
Ethan sat down slowly. He didn't look at the financial documents spread across the table. He looked only at me.
"Where are the boys?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.
"They are in the private daycare suite downstairs with their nanny," I replied calmly. "They are safe, happy, and playing with their building blocks."
Ethan let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly. "Good... that's good." He reached into his leather briefcase, pulled out a thick blue folder, and slid it across the glass table toward me.
Marcus Vance reached for it, but I raised my hand, picking up the folder myself.
"What is this?" I asked.
"It's my full, unconditional resignation as Chief Executive Officer of Montgomery Global," Ethan said softly. "Along with a complete, irrevocable transfer of my remaining thirty-five percent voting equity to a trust established solely in the names of Liam, Noah, and Caleb."
Marcus Vance blinked in surprise, leaning over to inspect the documents. "Mr. Montgomery... this gives Mrs. Sterling absolute, hundred-percent operational control of your family's entire corporate empire. You won't even hold a board seat."
"I know," Ethan said, his eyes never leaving mine. "I don't care about the board seat. I don't care about the company anymore. I spent five years letting my mother run my life because I thought I was preserving a legacy for my future children... I didn't realize my real children were already out there, living without a father."
He leaned forward, placing his trembling hands flat on the glass table.
"Sienna," Ethan begged, tears pooling in his eyes once more. "I signed over every asset I own to the boys' trust this morning. The estate in Lake Geneva, the penthouse on Michigan Avenue, the corporate shares. I don't want the money. I just want a chance to be in their lives. I want to earn the right to be called their dad."
I looked at the signed transfer documents in my hands. The signatures were fresh, verified by a public notary, completely legally binding. Ethan had stripped himself of every dollar of his ancestral wealth and handed it directly to his sons.
"What about Eleanor?" I asked quietly.
Ethan’s face hardened, a cold, painful clarity settling in his dark eyes. "My mother was arrested two hours ago by federal agents at the Lake Geneva house. The forensic audit records you leaked to the Department of Justice were undeniable. She's facing twelve counts of wire fraud, grand larceny, and corporate tax evasion. I didn't post her bail."
Silence fell over the high-rise boardroom. The city skyline stretched out behind us under a bright, crisp morning sun.
I looked at Ethan—really looked at him—for the first time in five years. The weak, controlled boy who had allowed his mother to dictate his life was gone. In his place stood a man who had finally hit rock bottom, stripped away his false pride, and chosen his children over his empire.
"You can't buy your way into their lives with corporate equity, Ethan," I said softly, my voice firm yet devoid of malice.
"I know," Ethan whispered, bowing his head. "I know."
"However," I continued, standing up from my chair, "they are four years old. They have a lot of questions about dinosaurs, legos, and why their father wasn't there to read them bedtime stories."
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Ethan snapped his head up, his eyes wide with desperate, overwhelming hope. "Sienna...?"
"The daycare suite is on the fourth floor, Ethan," I said, a tiny, gentle smile touching the corner of my lips. "If you want to start answering those questions... you better get down there before nap time."
