Chapter 5 Crossroads
Sloane
The air in my consultation room felt charged with tension. I sat behind my desk, staring at my husband standing protectively beside his ex-girlfriend, both looking at me expectantly.
"This is highly irregular," I said, keeping my voice professionally detached. "Dr. Thompson is the specialist for this particular arrhythmia. My schedule is fully booked for the next three weeks."
Graham's jaw tightened. "Surely exceptions can be made."
I looked between them, feeling a mixture of hurt and resignation. Three years of marriage, and here was Graham, advocating more passionately for his ex-girlfriend than he'd ever done for me.
"I need to speak with you privately," I said to Graham. "Ms. Reynolds, would you excuse us for a moment?"
Tessa smiled graciously, rising with elegant poise. "Of course, Dr. Bennett." She touched Graham's arm lightly as she passed, giving me a look before closing the door behind her.
The moment we were alone, Graham turned to me. "Sloane—"
"Let me be clear," I interrupted. "If you want me to perform this surgery, I need something in return."
"And what would that be?"
"Help Bennett Investment through its current liquidity crisis." I held his gaze steadily. "That's my condition."
Graham's laugh was cold. "You really haven't changed, have you? Always ready to leverage any situation for your family's benefit." He took a step closer. "First you forced me into marriage, and now you're using Tessa's health as a bargaining chip."
"I'm offering a fair exchange. You want a favor; I want one in return."
"There are other surgeons," he countered.
"Yes, there are. And they're all excellent. Feel free to consult with any of them."
Graham's eyes flashed with anger. "Fine. Have it your way." He turned and yanked the door open with such force that the glass walls trembled before slamming it behind him.
I sank back into my chair, forcing myself to breathe evenly. I straightened my white coat, checked my schedule, and buzzed for my next patient. There would be time for emotions later.
By the time I finished my last surgery, exhaustion had settled deep into my bones. I made my way to the hospital's garden courtyard and sank onto a bench, closing my eyes for a moment.
"Sloane Bennett. Still working yourself to the bone, I see."
The lightly accented voice jolted me from my near-doze. My eyes flew open to find a face I hadn't seen in years.
"Caleb?!" I exclaimed, genuine surprise washing over me. "Caleb Winslow?"
He stood before me, tall and elegant in a perfectly tailored suit, his familiar warm smile bringing back childhood memories. His light British accent gave his words a distinctive charm.
"The very same," he replied, striding forward to envelop me in a warm hug. "It's been far too long. Did you miss me at all while I was away in London?"
I stepped back, noticing the small paper bag bearing the logo of my favorite tea shop.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, unable to keep from smiling.
Caleb held up the paper bag. "Looking for you, actually. I brought your favorite—that lavender Earl Grey you used to drink during finals week."
"You remembered."
"Some things are impossible to forget," he said, settling beside me. "Like how we used to race our bikes through Central Park, or how you always beat me at chess."
"Those were simpler times," I said softly.
"Indeed they were." Caleb studied my face. "You look tired, Sloane."
"Occupational hazard. Twelve-hour surgeries tend to do that."
"Speaking of family business," Caleb's tone shifted slightly. "I heard Bennett Investment is selling off some prime Midtown properties at below-market rates. Is everything alright?"
I hesitated, weighing how much to share.
"No, it's fine," I sighed. "We're facing a liquidity crisis. The regulatory changes hit us harder than expected."
Caleb nodded. "I suspected as much. Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Unless you happen to have a few hundred million in liquid assets tucked away, probably not."
"I wish I did," he said. "I'm still getting my footing back in New York. But there's a private investment dinner tonight. Wall Street types looking for opportunities. I could take you as my guest."
"Alright," I decided. "What time?"
"Eight o'clock. I'll pick you up at seven-thirty?"
"That works. Thank you, Caleb."
The Atherton Club exuded old-world elegance. As we entered the private dining room, Caleb's hand rested lightly at the small of my back.
"Gentlemen, apologies for our tardiness," Caleb announced as he pulled out a chair for me. "May I present Dr. Sloane Bennett?"
The room contained six men, all impeccably dressed. I recognized several faces from financial publications—hedge fund managers and private equity partners who controlled billions in investments.
Throughout the meal, Caleb was attentive, steering the conversation toward Bennett Investment's assets with impressive finesse.
"Bennett has some interesting holdings in Midtown," one of the private equity partners commented, looking directly at me. "The Crawford Building, in particular, has potential for redevelopment."
"The location is prime," I acknowledged. "Just three blocks from Bryant Park."
"What about the Brooklyn Heights properties?" asked another man, his tone more skeptical. "I've heard whispers of regulatory issues with those parcels."
Caleb smoothly intervened. "The Brooklyn portfolio has been thoroughly vetted. Any regulatory concerns were addressed months ago. In fact—"
The dining room door swung open. Every head turned toward the interruption.
Graham Harrington stood in the doorway in a perfectly tailored dark Tom Ford suit. His presence immediately commanded the room's attention.
"I believe what Mr. Winslow was trying to say," Graham continued as if he'd been part of the conversation all along, "is that Bennett Investment's Brooklyn Heights properties are currently entangled in zoning disputes that make them a speculative investment at best."
He took the empty seat beside me, directly across from Caleb.
"Mr. Harrington," Caleb said, his voice tight but polite. "This is an unexpected pleasure."
Graham's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I make it my business to know which assets in New York are worth investing in. Especially when it comes to Bennett."
I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment and anger. Yet part of me couldn't help noticing how the power dynamics had instantly shifted with Graham's arrival.
"Of course," Graham continued, reaching for the wine bottle, "we should discuss the true value proposition of these assets."
I caught Caleb's eye across the table. His expression was carefully controlled, but I could read the concern there. We both knew that whatever Graham was about to say would either save or destroy any chance of finding investors for Bennett Investment.
And from the calculating look in my husband's eyes, I wasn't optimistic.