Chapter 8 - The Custody Petition I Never Expected.
I slept for forty minutes that night.
By morning, I hated everyone with a trust fund.
The boys, naturally, woke cheerful.
They had no idea that a document written decades before their birth had turned them into leverage.
I intended to keep it that way.
Gabriel agreed.
“No one tells them about the trust,” I said.
“Agreed.”
“No one uses the word heir.”
“Agreed.”
“No financial documents with their names.”
“Agreed.”
“No photographs released by your office.”
“Agreed.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“You are making this suspiciously easy.”
“I am learning.”
“Do not learn too fast.”
“That is an unusual request.”
“I need time to remain angry.”
His mouth moved slightly.
“I deserve that.”
Before I could answer, Marcus entered holding a thick envelope.
His expression was bad enough that my stomach tightened immediately.
“What now?”
“This was delivered to the front desk for Claire.”
Gabriel reached for it.
I took it first.
“My name is on it.”
He withdrew his hand.
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a legal petition filed in New York Supreme Court.
I read the first page.
Then the second.
By the third, my hands were shaking.
Gabriel noticed.
“What is it?”
I handed him the papers.
He read silently.
His face darkened.
Marcus stepped closer.
“Boss?”
Gabriel held out the petition.
Marcus read the heading.
PETITION FOR EMERGENCY DETERMINATION OF PATERNITY AND TEMPORARY PARENTAL ACCESS.
My name appeared as respondent.
Gabriel Cross appeared as petitioner.
I looked at him.
“You filed for custody?”
“No.”
“Your name is on it.”
“I can see that.”
“Did your attorneys file this?”
“No.”
“Gabriel.”
“I said no.”
His voice sharpened, then he caught himself.
He lowered it.
“I did not authorize this.”
Marcus was already calling someone.
I kept reading.
The petition claimed I had concealed the children deliberately.
It referenced the forged medical record.
It referenced the fake bank account.
It claimed there was reason to believe I intended to leave the state to prevent Gabriel from forming a relationship with his sons.
That part was close enough to my angry statement the night before to feel invasive.
“How did they know I talked about leaving Manhattan?”
Gabriel looked at Marcus.
Marcus ended his call.
“No one on my team filed it.”
“Then who did?”
“The attorney of record is Helen March.”
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed.
“I fired her three years ago.”
“For what?” I asked.
“Conflict of interest.”
“With whom?”
“Vincent.”
I laughed once.
“Of course.”
Marcus continued.
“She still has copies of old authorization forms with Gabriel’s signature.”
Gabriel’s face hardened.
“She forged a current petition.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
Marcus pointed to the signature page.
“The digital signature certificate is valid.”
Gabriel stared.
“That’s impossible.”
“Not if she had access to the old legal server.”
I looked between them.
“Can this petition actually do anything?”
Marcus hesitated.
That was not the answer I wanted.
“A judge could grant a temporary hearing before the signature issue is resolved.”
Gabriel set the papers down.
“Call Rebecca.”
“Already did.”
“Who is Rebecca?” I asked.
“My current family attorney.”
I froze.
“You have a family attorney?”
“I have attorneys for everything.”
“That does not make it less unsettling.”
The boys ran into the room before the conversation could continue.
Owen held a hotel bathrobe belt around his shoulders like a cape.
“Dad, look.”
Gabriel’s entire face changed at the word.
I saw it every time one of them said it.
He could not hide the impact.
“I see.”
“I’m a pilot.”
“Pilots usually wear wings, not capes.”
“This pilot has both.”
Noah followed carrying the paper airplane.
“Can Dad come to school when we go back?”
My heart tightened.
“Not today.”
“Why?”
“We’re taking a few days off.”
Eli frowned.
“Are we sick?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
I searched for an answer.
Gabriel stepped in gently.
“Because some adults are being annoying.”
The boys accepted that instantly.
I looked at him.
“That may be the most accurate explanation we have.”
Marcus’s phone rang.
He answered, listened, and then looked at Gabriel.
“Rebecca is downstairs.”
Rebecca Shaw arrived carrying two legal pads and the kind of calm expression I associated with very expensive attorneys.
She was in her forties, Black, sharply dressed, and unimpressed by Gabriel’s reputation.
I liked her within thirty seconds.
She read the petition at the table while the boys watched cartoons in the bedroom.
“This filing is aggressive,” she said.
“That is one word for it.”
She looked at me.
“Ms. Bennett, I represent Gabriel, not you.”
“Thank you for saying that immediately.”
“You should retain independent counsel.”
“I will.”
“Until then, I can explain what this document does without advising you.”
“Go ahead.”
Rebecca tapped the first page.
“The petition is designed to force a public conflict quickly.”
“Why public?”
“Family filings involving minors are often protected, but the existence of a dispute can still become known.”
“She wants headlines,” Gabriel said.
Rebecca nodded.
“She also wants you to react.”
“How?”
“By filing a real competing petition.”
I looked at Gabriel.
He looked at Rebecca.
“I’m not doing that.”
Rebecca did not react.
“That is your decision.”
“I will establish paternity legally, but I am not starting a custody fight with Claire.”
My chest loosened by a fraction.
Rebecca continued.
“We can jointly move to invalidate this filing.”
“Jointly?” I asked.
“If you both sign affidavits stating Gabriel did not authorize it and that you are cooperating privately regarding the children, the court has little reason to act on the emergency request.”
“That sounds simple.”
“It is.”
“Which means something will make it complicated.”
Rebecca smiled faintly.
“You understand litigation.”
“I was married to Gabriel.”
He gave me a dry look.
Rebecca turned a page.
“The complication is Exhibit C.”
“What is Exhibit C?”
She slid the petition toward me.
A photograph was attached.
It showed me at a train station two months earlier with the boys and several suitcases.
The caption claimed I was preparing to relocate permanently.
I stared at it.
“We were going to Boston for four days.”
“Can you prove that?”
“Yes.”
“I have hotel reservations, return tickets, museum receipts.”
“Good.”
Rebecca turned another page.
“Exhibit D is more concerning.”
It was a copy of an email supposedly from me to a private school in Toronto.
The message asked about enrollment for three five-year-old boys beginning the following term.
I had never written it.
Gabriel read over my shoulder.
“Fake?”
“Yes.”
Rebecca nodded.
“Then someone has spent months creating the appearance that you planned to leave the country.”
Months.
The word frightened me more than the gala photographs.
This had not begun when the boys were recognized.
Someone had prepared for their discovery before Gabriel even knew they existed.
“How could Vincent know?” I asked.
Gabriel’s eyes turned toward me.
“Know what?”
“That the boys existed.”
We both looked at Marcus.
He had gone still.
“What?” Gabriel asked.
Marcus took a slow breath.
“There is something I did not tell you last night because I was still verifying it.”
I felt anger instantly.
“What?”
“The photograph from the preschool was not the oldest surveillance image.”
My mouth went dry.
“How old?”
“Three years.”
The room went silent.
Marcus placed his phone on the table.
The image showed me pushing a triple stroller through a park when the boys were two.
I remembered the day.
I remembered the red scarf I wore.
I remembered Owen throwing crackers at pigeons.
I remembered thinking no one in Gabriel’s world knew where we were.
On the back of the scanned photograph, someone had written a date and a note.
CONFIRMED: THREE MALE CHILDREN.
Gabriel stared at the handwriting.
Then his face changed.
“I know that handwriting.”
“Whose?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“My father’s attorney.”
“But your father was dead.”
“Yes.”
“The attorney wasn’t.”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“Who?”
Gabriel’s answer was quiet.
“Daniel Reeves.”
My former attorney.
The man whose innocent lunch with me had been used to convince Gabriel I was having an affair.
The man who had known about my doctor’s appointment.
The man I had trusted to finalize my divorce.
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THE THREE BOYS GABRIEL CROSS NEVER KNEW
