Chapter 17 - The Corporate Infiltration
Back in Manhattan on Monday morning, the towering glass facade of Vance Global Enterprises gleamed under a slate-gray winter sky. I strode through the main lobby in a structured cream wool coat and high-heeled leather boots, the security guards snapping to attention as I passed.
In the executive suite on the fiftieth floor, Marcus Thorne was already waiting for me, pacing near my desk with a dark expression and an open tablet.
“Good morning, Nora,” Marcus greeted tersely, skipping the pleasantries. “We have an unexpected complication that just landed on my desk ten minutes ago.”
I unbuttoned my coat, handing it to my executive assistant as I walked briskly toward my desk. “Define complication. Did another shell company try to test our firewall?”
“Worse. It’s a domestic litigation maneuver,” Marcus said, turning the tablet toward me. “Rowan’s public defender—or what’s left of his legal aid counsel—filed a formal motion in family court for a compassionate visitation petition, citing his terminal medical diagnosis.”
I stopped dead in my tracks, my eyes narrowing. “A visitation petition? After he was legally stripped of his parental rights through the domestic abandonment and forfeiture clauses?”
“Under standard family law, terminal illness can sometimes force a judge to review custody roadblocks if blood ties are explicitly proven, regardless of past misconduct,” Marcus explained grimly, adjusting his glasses. “His lawyer is trying to spin a narrative that he’s a dying, repentant father seeking closure. If this gets in front of a sympathetic judge who loves a dramatic sob story, it could trigger mandatory mediation hearings that would drag your son’s name through the tabloids.”
A cold, razor-sharp fury ignited in my chest. Not for Rowan—he was a dying, insignificant speck of dust. But for the sheer audacity of trying to disrupt my son’s peace, dragging our private trauma back into the public eye just to satisfy a dying man’s dying wish for redemption.
“He wants a legal battle?” I asked softly, my voice deadpan and dangerous. “Let’s give him a masterclass in jurisdiction.”
“What’s your play?” Marcus asked, a faint, approving smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
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“We don't fight the visitation petition in family court,” I replied, sitting down at my desk and opening my laptop. “We preemptively file a federal counter-motion based on the criminal asset restitution default and his ongoing failure to satisfy the court-mandated domestic abuse penalties. Furthermore, we subpoena his medical records directly from the state facility to verify if his so-called terminal diagnosis isn't just another manufactured theatrical stunt designed to bypass corporate privacy laws.”
Marcus laughed aloud, snapping his tablet shut. “Consider it filed before lunch, Madam Chairwoman. Rowan picked the wrong corporate titan to mess with—twice.”
