Chapter 4 - The Custody Threat
The week following Christmas was a whirlwind of legal maneuvering and media management. We were back in Austin, safe behind the gates of my estate. True to his word, Marcus hired a sleazy, high-profile family law attorney who thrived on tabloid drama. Within three days, I was served with an emergency petition for joint custody, accompanied by a demand for $50,000 a month in child support and a $10 million retroactive payment.
Marcus’s lawyer immediately began leaking sob stories to the press. Headlines like BILLIONAIRE CEO HIDES QUADRUPLETS FROM LOVING FATHER started popping up on gossip blogs. They painted Marcus as a heartbroken man who had been searching for his lost family for eight years, only to be cruelly mocked by his wealthy ex-wife.
"It's a textbook extortion play," my lead counsel, Sarah, said as she paced across my home office. "He doesn't want the kids, Kesha. He wants a settlement. He's hoping the bad press will force the board of directors at Horizon to pressure you into paying him off to make the scandal go away."
"He's not getting a single dime," I said, staring out the window at the kids playing in the backyard. Julian was out there with them, showing Ethan how to throw a football. Seeing Julian with my children—patient, protective, and genuinely caring—made my heart ache in a way I hadn't allowed it to in years.
"We need a silver bullet," Sarah said, tapping her pen. "The divorce papers where he relinquished rights were standard. Because the kids weren't born yet, family court can still entertain a paternity claim. We need proof that he knew about the kids and maliciously abandoned them, or proof that he is currently an unfit parent."
I closed my eyes, trying to remember the chaotic days of the divorce. I remembered crying on the floor of our apartment. I remembered his cruel words. But was there anything in writing?
Suddenly, my phone buzzed on the desk. It was an unknown number from a Denver area code.
I answered it cautiously. "Hello?"
"Kesha?" a quiet, trembling voice asked. "It's Chloe. Marcus's fiancée. Well... ex-fiancée."
I sat up straight. "Chloe. Are you alright?"
"No," she whispered, sounding close to tears. "I left him the night of the dinner. But when I went back to the apartment today to pack the rest of my things while he was out meeting with his lawyers... I found something. I found an old hard drive in his desk. Kesha, he didn't just leave you because he was scared. He left you because he was paid to."
My blood ran cold. "What are you talking about?"
"His father's life insurance payout," Chloe explained, her voice shaking. "Eight years ago, Marcus’s father passed away. The will stipulated that Marcus would only receive his $500,000 inheritance if he was unencumbered by dependents, because his father didn't trust him to be responsible with a family. Marcus found out you were pregnant, and he chose the money over you and the babies. He hid the inheritance from the divorce proceedings. It's all here in these old emails."
My breath caught in my throat. He hadn't just panicked. He had sold his children for half a million dollars.
"Chloe," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "Where are you right now?"
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"I'm at a coffee shop down the street from the apartment. I'm terrified. He's been acting crazy, talking about how he's going to use your kids to become a billionaire."
"Don't move," I commanded. "I'm sending Julian to get you. You're coming to Austin."
