Chapter 5 - The Venomous Counterstrike
Three days passed.
The quiet return to Cedar Ridge was far from peaceful, even though the estate was once again under my absolute control. The air inside the grand house still carried the faint, bitter scent of Grant’s cologne and the metallic tang of Marcus’s thermal drill. I had hired a team of deep-cleaning specialists to sanitize every surface, replacing the furniture in the master suite and scrubbing away every trace of the Sterling family’s presence.
Ava lay in a bassinet beside my desk in the nursery, her tiny fingers curling around the edge of a knitted ivory blanket. I sat nearby, a cup of black tea cooling beside my laptop, watching the financial news tickers scroll across the screen.
STERLING REAL ESTATE HOLDINGS PLUNGES 78% AMID FRAUD INVESTIGATION. GRANT STERLING REMAINED IN FEDERAL CUSTODY; BAIL SET AT $10 MILLION.
Rachel walked into the nursery, stepping quietly on the hardwood floor so as not to wake the baby. She dropped a heavy yellow envelope onto my lap.
"He’s not going down quietly, Lena," Rachel warned, pulling up a chair. "His father’s old legal firm—Vanderbilt, Cross & Associates—just stepped in. They filed an emergency motion in family court this morning contesting the signed surrender agreement."
I picked up the envelope and slid out the legal notice. "On what grounds?"
"Duress," Rachel said grimly. "They're claiming you intentionally subjected Grant and his mother to life-threatening conditions—specifically oxygen deprivation inside the study—to force him to execute the custody and asset waivers under torture."
I let out a dry, hollow laugh. "He was cutting into an armored safe with a thermal drill inside a private residence he was illegally occupying. The environmental controls are standard safety mechanisms."
"It doesn't matter how baseless it is legally," Rachel explained, her expression tight. "They aren't trying to win the trial. They're trying to create a procedural delay. If the family court judge places a temporary freeze on Ava’s custody arrangement pending a psychological and safety evaluation, Grant’s sister, Beatrice, can file for temporary guardianship as her aunt."
My hands locked around the edges of the folder, crumpling the paper. "Beatrice?"
"She landed at the private airport an hour ago from London," Rachel said. "And she didn't come alone. She brought a team of tabloid publicists and a prominent family law advocate. They're staging a press conference outside the courthouse at two o'clock, framing you as an unstable, cold-blooded heiress who used military-grade security systems to torture her husband three days after giving birth."
I looked over at Ava, sleeping peacefully under the soft glow of the nursery lamp.
They were coming for my daughter.
Grant’s arrest had destroyed their financial standing, but the Sterling family possessed one final, toxic asset: public narrative manipulation. If they could spin the narrative that I was a cruel, emotionally detached monster who put a newborn child in danger during a violent real estate dispute, they could turn the public against me and force a settlement out of court.
"Where is Beatrice staying?" I asked, my voice dropping into a dangerous, rhythmic calm.
"At the St. Regis downtown," Rachel replied. "She booked the entire penthouse floor using an offshore corporate account registered in the British Virgin Islands."
I reached for my laptop and opened my private intelligence portal—a secure system my mother had retained to monitor high-yield competitors and family threats. I typed in the corporate ID of the Virgin Islands account Rachel had mentioned.
Within five seconds, the ledger expanded across my screen.
"Look at the sub-accounts, Rachel," I pointed to the screen.
Rachel leaned closer, her eyes narrowing as she read the digital signatures. "That’s... that’s not Beatrice’s money."
"No," I said, a dark, calculating warmth spreading through my chest. "Beatrice hasn't had fifty thousand dollars to her name since her boutique fashion line went bankrupt in Milan three years ago. That Virgin Islands account is funded directly by Carter-Cross Holdings."
"Grant’s father’s old firm?"
"Grant’s father’s secret business partner," I corrected her. "The man who bought up thirty percent of Grant’s bad real estate debt last year. He isn't trying to help Beatrice save Grant. He’s using Beatrice to force me into a settlement so he can seize the mineral rights attached to Cedar Ridge."
I closed the laptop with a quiet, decisive snap.
"Rachel," I said, looking up. "Cancel my four o'clock doctor’s appointment."
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"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to pay my sister-in-law a visit before her press conference," I said, standing up. "It’s time Beatrice learned why my mother named this estate Cedar Ridge... and what is buried beneath it."
