ALLEN
The adrenaline from the press conference was still humming in my veins, but the sight of the man by the gate acted like a cold drench of water. He wasn't a journalist; he lacked the frantic energy of the paparazzi. He stood with a military stillness, his black suit absorbing the harsh glare of the floodlights.
"Stay inside," I told Celeste, my voice leaving no room for argument.
"Allen, who is that?" She reached for my arm, her eyes darting to the silver briefcase the man held.
"Someone who doesn't belong here," I said. I signaled to my head of security, Miller. "Bring him to the study. No cameras. No microphones. And sweep him for wires."
I walked into the mahogany-lined study, the heart of the estate's power. A moment later, Miller ushered the man in. Up close, he looked even more sterile. His face was a map of scars hidden under a professional veneer.
"Mr. Cross," the man said, his voice a flat, Midwestern monotone. "My name is Silas. I represent a group of silent shareholders—the ones who don't care about your 'moral fitness,' but care very much about the stability of the tech sector."
"You're a long way from Wall Street, Silas," I said, leaning against my desk. "And you're trespassing."
"I'm delivering a choice." He placed the silver briefcase on the table and clicked the latches.
I expected documents. I expected a bribe. I did not expect what was inside.
A series of black-and-white surveillance photos were laid out. They weren't from the penthouse. They were from three years ago. Photos of Celeste in a hospital bed, looking frail and exhausted. Photos of a man in a lab coat handing a folder to my father's head of security.
And a final document: a signed "Relinquishment of Parental Rights" with Celeste's signature forged at the bottom.
"Your father didn't just 'find out' about the boy today, Allen," Silas said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Doncan Cross has known about Gabriel since the day he was born. He's the one who paid the doctors to tell Celeste the baby was 'at risk' to keep her compliant. He's the one who ensured she stayed in Brooklyn, monitored and isolated, until he decided the boy was old enough to be useful to the Cross legacy."
The room felt like it was tilting. My father—the man I had fought to impress, the man I had just defended as a 'proud grandfather'—had been the architect of Celeste's misery for three long years.
"Why tell me this now?" I hissed, my hands curling into fists.
"Because the Lawson family is about to play their final card," Silas replied. "They've partnered with Anastasia Thorne. They don't want the boy anymore; they want the company. They're going to use these documents to prove that the Cross family—including you—orchestrated a kidnapping. They'll bury you in a RICO case that will make your resignation look like a vacation."
CELESTE
I stood outside the study door, my ear pressed to the wood. I knew I shouldn't be listening, but the "safety" Allen promised felt like a thin veil.
When I heard the word forgery, my knees gave out.
I remembered that day in the hospital. The blurry figures, the cold air of the ward, the nurse who wouldn't look me in the eye when she told me I had to sign "standard discharge papers" while I was still drugged from the emergency C-section.
I had been a pawn. Not just to my parents, but to the man I thought was my protector's father.
I pushed the door open.
Allen looked at me, and for the first time, I saw true, unadulterated fear in his eyes. Not for his money, but for the bridge we had just started to build.
"Is it true?" I whispered, looking at the photos on the desk. "He knew? Your father knew?"
Allen didn't lie. He couldn't. "He knew, Celeste. He's been watching you for three years. He let you struggle. He let you fear for your life."
I looked at Silas, the man in the black suit. "And who are you? Why help us?"
"I don't help people, Ms. Lawson," Silas said, closing the briefcase. "I manage risks. And currently, Doncan Cross is the biggest risk to the global markets. My employers want him gone. We want you to sign a testimony against him. In exchange, we ensure the Lawson lawsuit vanishes, and you get full, unencumbered custody of the boy. No Cross interference. No Lawson interference."
"And Allen?" I asked, looking at the man I was starting to love.
Silas looked at Allen, then back at me. "Mr. Cross is part of the legacy. If he wants to save the boy, he has to help us destroy his father. He has to be the one to hand over the evidence."
The choice was a jagged blade. If Allen stayed loyal to his father, we would lose Gabriel to the Law. If he helped Silas, he would be the man who sent his own father to prison.
"Allen," I said, my voice trembling. "What do we do?"
Allen looked at the silver briefcase, then at me. He reached out, taking my hand. His grip was like iron.
"Miller!" Allen shouted.
The security head stepped in. "Yes, sir?"
"Find my father," Allen said, his voice cold and devoid of any familial warmth. "Tell him I'm not waiting for the board meeting. Tell him
I'm coming for his chair. And Miller?"
"Sir?"
"Call the FBI."