Chapter 3: The Countdown Begins
Chapter 3: The Countdown Begins
At exactly 9:12 a.m., Richard Lawson walked into the Daley Center carrying a briefcase that now held more than evidence.
It held the beginning of the Holloway family's downfall.
He filed three emergency petitions before most downtown offices had finished their first cup of coffee.
An emergency Order of Protection.
A petition to preserve all electronic evidence.
And a motion preventing Grant Holloway from transferring or hiding marital assets until the court reviewed the allegations.
Richard knew one thing about wealthy people.
When they realized they couldn't erase evidence, they usually tried to erase money.
Not this time.
Meanwhile, back at Carter's Table, the lunch crowd was beginning to fill every booth.
Evelyn moved through the diner on instinct, refilling coffee cups and delivering plates of meatloaf with practiced efficiency.
To the customers, she looked like herself.
Inside, she was counting every minute.
Seventy hours left.
She refused to let fear show on her face.
Fear was exactly what Grant expected.
Hannah remained upstairs in her childhood bedroom.
She hadn't slept much.
Every time a car slowed outside the house, she pulled back the curtain.
"They're going to find me," she whispered.
Evelyn placed a fresh bowl of soup on the bedside table.
"No."
"They're going to try."
"There's a difference."
Hannah looked down.
"I don't know how to stop being afraid."
Evelyn gently squeezed her hand.
"You don't have to stop today."
"You just have to keep moving."
At 11:37 a.m., Grant Holloway exploded.
His executive assistant rushed into his office at Holloway Select Markets carrying a stack of legal documents.
"They've filed against you."
Grant barely looked up from his laptop.
"My wife?"
"No."
"Her attorney."
He snatched the papers.
The first page made his jaw tighten.
Emergency Order of Protection.
The second.
Notice to Preserve All Electronic Records.
The third.
Temporary Financial Restraining Motion.
His face darkened.
"Who filed these?"
"Richard Lawson."
Grant froze.
The name sounded familiar.
"Lawson..."
His assistant nodded nervously.
"The same Richard Lawson who won the Barrington class-action case."
Grant slowly stood.
"The one who bankrupted Hanover Development?"
"Yes."
"And the pharmaceutical fraud settlement?"
"Also him."
Grant's confidence slipped—for only a second.
Then anger replaced it.
"So they hired a celebrity lawyer."
He picked up his phone.
"Call Donovan Pierce."
"The best litigation firm in Chicago."
"I want every attorney they have."
Across town, Margaret Holloway received the same documents while hosting a charity planning committee.
She read only the first paragraph before slamming the papers onto the conference table.
"Ridiculous."
"They're bluffing."
One of the women across from her hesitated.
"Margaret..."
"Is everything all right?"
Margaret forced a smile.
"Family misunderstanding."
"Nothing more."
But as she gathered the papers, she noticed two committee members exchanging uneasy glances.
Rumors traveled fast among Chicago's elite.
Faster than truth.
At two o'clock that afternoon, Richard arrived back at Evelyn's house.
He carried another folder.
"This came quicker than I expected."
"What is it?" Evelyn asked.
"The judge signed the temporary protection order."
Hannah looked up in disbelief.
"So..."
"They can't come here?"
"They can't contact you."
"They can't approach you."
"They can't remove property."
"And if they violate the order..."
Richard smiled.
"They'll be explaining themselves to a judge."
For the first time in years, Hannah exhaled without shaking.
The peace lasted exactly twenty-three minutes.
A black SUV stopped across the street.
Then another.
Two men in expensive suits stepped out.
Neither approached the house.
They simply stood there.
Watching.
Evelyn noticed them through the front window.
"Richard."
He looked outside.
Private security.
Not police.
Not investigators.
Just intimidation.
Richard pulled out his phone.
"Perfect."
"What are you doing?" Hannah asked.
"I'm documenting witness intimidation."
He snapped several photographs.
"Smile, gentlemen."
"They've just become Exhibit A."
An hour later, one of the SUVs disappeared.
The other remained.
By evening, a black luxury sedan replaced it.
Different drivers.
Same message.
We're watching.
Hannah's anxiety returned.
"They'll never stop."
Richard closed the curtains.
"No."
"They're making their first mistake."
"What do you mean?"
"They're creating evidence faster than I could."
At six that evening, Grant ignored the court order.
He called Hannah anyway.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
And again.
Then text messages began arriving.
Come home.
Don't make this worse.
You know I can fix everything.
Minutes later, the tone changed.
If you don't return tonight, you'll regret it.
Another.
Your mother can't protect you forever.
Another.
Seventy-two hours. Remember?
Hannah stared at the screen.
Her hands trembled.
Richard calmly reached over.
"Don't reply."
Instead, he took screenshots of every message.
Then emailed copies to himself.
"Violation number one."
Another message arrived.
You'll lose everything.
Richard smiled slightly.
"Violation number two."
Then another.
No judge will save you.
"Three."
He looked at Hannah.
"He's angry."
"Angry people make careless decisions."
Across the city, Grant paced inside his penthouse office.
Donovan Pierce, one of Chicago's highest-paid defense attorneys, sat across from him reading the evidence summary Richard had attached to the filings.
Grant folded his arms.
"So?"
Pierce didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he slowly closed the folder.
"Tell me something."
Grant frowned.
"What?"
"Did you hit your wife?"
Grant hesitated.
"It wasn't like they're claiming."
Pierce asked another question.
"Did your mother?"
Grant looked away.
Silence answered for him.
The attorney sighed.
"I can defend difficult clients."
"I cannot defend recorded facts."
Grant's expression hardened.
"We'll bury them in legal fees."
Pierce shook his head.
"Not if Lawson already has what I think he has."
Grant slammed his fist onto the desk.
"I don't lose."
Pierce stood.
"Everyone says that."
He adjusted his suit jacket before walking toward the door.
"The smart ones stop saying it before it's too late."
The office fell silent.
For the first time since Hannah had walked out of the mansion, Grant wasn't thinking about revenge.
He was thinking about risk.
May you like
And for the first time in years...
He wondered whether seventy-two hours might not be enough.
