Chapter 6 - THE PAPER THAT COULD TAKE HER
For three years, a document existed somewhere that said Sebastian Kane could claim authority over my daughter.
I did not sleep that night.
Neither did Adrian.
The estate became a fortress within the fortress.
Sebastian and the council were kept outside.
Rachel stayed.
Celia stayed.
Malcolm moved between security stations under supervision, no longer in command but still useful.
Nora slept in my arms in one of the downstairs guest rooms because I refused to let her out of reach.
At 2:11 a.m., there was a knock.
“Who?”
“Adrian.”
I opened the door three inches.
He stood alone.
No jacket.
No intimidating entourage.
“You’re awake.”
“So are you.”
“I brought this.”
He held out a folder.
I did not take it.
“What is it?”
“Three family-law attorneys.”
“I said I choose my own lawyer.”
“Yes.”
He put the folder on a side table outside the room.
“These are names. No retainers. No contact. Miriam Feld is the only one I know personally, so I wrote that beside her name.”
I stared at him.
“You made a list.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t hire anyone.”
“No.”
“You’re learning.”
His mouth moved slightly.
“I’m trying.”
That mattered.
I opened the door wider.
He remained outside.
“Nora’s asleep.”
“I know.”
“You can come in.”
He entered.
The guest room had two chairs near the window.
We sat.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then I said, “I’m going to call a lawyer in the morning.”
“Good.”
“I’m not agreeing that the addendum is valid.”
“Neither am I.”
“If Sebastian tries to take Nora—”
“He won’t.”
“You can’t promise that.”
Adrian looked at me.
“No.”
The correction came immediately.
“I can promise I will fight beside you.”
My throat tightened.
“Not for me?”
“Beside.”
He had listened.
I looked toward the bed.
Nora slept sideways beneath the blanket, one foot sticking out.
“How do you feel?”
“About what?”
“Being her father.”
Adrian leaned back.
“Terrified.”
That surprised me.
“You?”
“I thought you would say something more powerful.”
“I can close ports.”
“That sounds powerful.”
“I don’t know how to convince a three-year-old to wear socks.”
“Neither does anyone.”
“She called me Mr. Adrian.”
I smiled.
“She calls the mailman Mr. Mail.”
“That helps.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Silence.
Then he asked, “Did you always know you wanted to adopt?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I looked at him.
“Because I wanted to be a mother.”
“That simple?”
“For me.”
“No husband?”
“I dated.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“You interrogate everyone like this?”
“No.”
“Comforting.”
He looked almost embarrassed.
Almost.
“I was engaged once.”
His expression sharpened.
“What happened?”
“He decided he wanted biological children and believed adoption should be Plan B.”
“And you?”
“I didn’t want to build a family around the idea that one kind of child was first choice and another was backup.”
Adrian nodded slowly.
“So you left.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I laughed.
“That is an aggressive response to a relationship you knew nothing about.”
“He was wrong.”
“You sound very certain.”
“I am.”
I looked at him.
There it was again.
That disorienting glimpse of the man beneath the legend.
Morning came with lawyers.
I chose Miriam Feld.
Not because Adrian knew her.
Because when I called, she interrupted my explanation after thirty seconds and said, “First question: is the child safe with you right now?”
Not “Is Mr. Kane present?”
Not “What assets are involved?”
The child.
I hired her.
Adrian paid a retainer into an independent client trust after Miriam wrote an agreement stating that I, not he, controlled the representation.
It cost more than I made in a year.
I tried not to think about that.
At 10:00 a.m., Miriam arrived.
Seventy years old.
Silver glasses.
Navy suit.
The face of a woman who had spent four decades listening to rich men explain why rules should bend.
She read Evelyn’s letter.
She watched both recordings.
Then she examined my adoption decree.
“This is valid on its face.”
“On its face?”
“Lawyers say that when we want clients to remain nervous.”
I stared.
She smiled.
“It means the court finalized your adoption. Sebastian cannot simply arrive with an old piece of paper and collect the child.”
I exhaled.
Adrian did too.
Miriam noticed.
“However.”
There it was.
“Daniel Voss’s conduct matters. If he concealed the biological father, forged guardian documents, or misrepresented the birth mother’s wishes, someone may challenge parts of the process.”
My stomach dropped.
“Could they undo the adoption?”
“Courts prioritize the child’s best interests. Nora has been your daughter for three years.”
“That wasn’t a yes or no.”
“No competent lawyer should give you one yet.”
I hated her honesty.
Which probably meant she was good.
Adrian spoke.
“I will sign whatever waivers are necessary.”
Miriam looked at him.
“This is not simply your decision.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Her tone could have stripped paint.
Adrian did not react.
“I’m learning.”
Miriam looked at me.
I nodded.
“He is.”
“Good.”
She turned pages.
“Next issue: paternity.”
The DNA result sat in the folder.
“Biologically clear,” she said.
“Legally not yet established.”
Adrian leaned forward.
“What do I need to do?”
“Nothing until Claire and I decide how to approach it.”
He blinked.
Miriam continued reading.
I almost loved her.
Then one of Adrian’s attorneys entered carrying a sealed courier envelope.
“Emergency filing.”
My pulse jumped.
Miriam took it.
Read the first page.
Her mouth flattened.
“Sebastian moved faster than expected.”
“What?” I asked.
“He filed a petition in family court seeking temporary protective oversight of Nora’s trust interest.”
Adrian stood.
“Not custody?”
“Not directly.”
Miriam continued.
“He alleges the adoption was procured through fraud and that the child’s financial interests are at risk while paternity remains unresolved.”
I felt sick.
“Financial interests.”
“Eighteen percent.”
Adrian’s face hardened.
Miriam looked at him.
“Sit down.”
To my amazement, he did.
She read more.
“He is asking the court to appoint an interim guardian ad litem and freeze decisions related to the trust.”
“That sounds reasonable,” I said.
“It could be.”
“Could?”
“His filing also asks the court to restrict removal of the child from Pennsylvania.”
I stared.
“I live in Pennsylvania.”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“It creates a record implying you might flee.”
Anger rose.
“I went to work yesterday morning thinking preschool had a gas leak.”
Miriam’s eyes sharpened.
“What gas leak?”
The room stopped.
I blinked.
“Nora’s preschool closed. That’s why I brought her here.”
“What was the name?”
I told her.
Adrian was already reaching for his phone.
“No,” Miriam said.
He stopped.
“Use counsel.”
She called.
Within fifteen minutes, we learned there had been no fire-department report of a gas leak at Nora’s preschool.
My hands went cold.
I called the director.
Disconnected.
I searched the school’s website.
Gone.
The address existed.
The building existed.
But the preschool entity had been dissolved two days earlier.
“That’s impossible,” I whispered.
“I dropped her there yesterday.”
Miriam looked at Adrian.
“Who enrolled her?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“Seven months ago.”
“How did you find it?”
I thought.
“A flyer.”
“Where?”
“Staff bulletin board.”
Every eye turned toward me.
At the Kane estate.
I felt the room tilt.
“Someone wanted Nora here.”
Adrian stood.
“No.”
Miriam looked at him.
He paced once.
“Someone wanted Claire to bring Nora to the estate on a council day.”
Rachel whispered, “The locket.”
I looked at Bunny.
If the hidden zipper had gone unnoticed for three years, why had Nora suddenly found it that morning?
“Nora said Snow went through the door.”
Adrian’s expression changed.
“Snow never goes upstairs.”
Celia frowned.
“He hates stairs.”
A ridiculous detail.
A terrifying one.
I remembered the white cat slipping into the forbidden room.
Had someone carried him upstairs?
Opened the door?
The door that had supposedly been locked?
I stared at Adrian.
“Someone staged this.”
He looked toward the hallway cameras.
The locket.
The child.
The council meeting.
The closed preschool.
Not coincidence.
A reveal.
Someone had decided the secret needed to surface now.
Miriam said, “Who benefits?”
Sebastian seemed obvious.
Too obvious.
Adrian looked at Malcolm.
“Get the morning footage.”
Twenty minutes later, we watched security video from the upstairs corridor.
At 11:02 a.m., Snow appeared.
Alone.
At 11:03, the oak door opened.
Nobody visible.
Because the camera angle did not cover the small service alcove.
At 11:04, Nora followed the cat.
Adrian leaned closer.
“Go back.”
Malcolm rewound.
A reflection appeared briefly in a framed painting across the hall.
A person.
Female.
Gray uniform.
House staff.
Teresa whispered, “That’s not one of mine.”
The figure stepped out of frame.
We checked gate logs.
No matching employee had entered that morning.
Then Rachel froze the image.
“Wait.”
She leaned toward the screen.
“Oh my God.”
“What?” I asked.
Rachel pointed at the woman’s wrist.
A bracelet.
Thin red cord.
One silver bead.
“I know that bracelet.”
Adrian stared.
“Who?”
Rachel looked at him.
“Daniel Voss gave one to every employee at St. Agnes involved in protected placements.”
My skin went cold.
Miriam said, “So Voss may be alive.”
Rachel shook her head.
“No.”
Her face had gone pale.
“That bracelet belonged to his daughter.”
Adrian frowned.
“Voss had a daughter?”
Rachel looked at me.
“Yes.”
“What was her name?”
Rachel swallowed.
“Elena Voss.”
The front-desk phone rang.
Nobody moved at first.
Then Teresa answered.
Her face changed.
She covered the receiver.
“It’s a woman.”
Adrian stepped closer.
“Who?”
Teresa looked at me.
“She says her name is Elena.”
The room became silent.
Teresa listened.
Then whispered, “She says she wants to speak to Claire.”
I took the phone.
“Hello?”
A woman breathed once.
Then said, “I’m the reason Nora found the locket.”
My grip tightened.
“Why?”
“Because Sebastian filed to remove your name from the trust yesterday.”
“What?”
“And because my father is alive.”
Everyone stared at me.
May you like
Elena continued.
“If you want to keep your daughter, come to St. Agnes before he disappears again.”
