Chapter 3 - The War Begins
The quiet inside the foyer was so absolute you could hear the soft tick of the grandfather clock in the hall.
Genevieve blinked, a faint, condescending smile appearing on her lips. "Resign? Evict me? Christopher, don't be ridiculous. You are emotional right now because of a sudden surprise. You built that resort company under the Vance corporate umbrella. My father’s trust funds seventy percent of your capital lines."
"And my personal holding company owns sixty percent of the voting shares," I replied, pulling my phone from my pocket. "I’ve already called our corporate counsel, Arthur Pendelton. He’s drafting the severance papers right now."
Genevieve’s smile vanished completely. "Arthur works for me."
"Arthur works for the primary shareholder, which is me," I corrected her. "And if you attempt to contest the eviction or contact Rosalind or my sons again, I will release the paper trail of the private investigator you hired to harass her father six years ago. I’m sure the local board of philanthropy would love to see how the great Genevieve Vance conducts her personal affairs."
Genevieve took a step back, her chest rising and falling rapidly. For the first time in her life, she had lost leverage, and she knew it. She looked at Rosalind with pure, unadulterated venom.
"You think you’ve won, don't you?" Genevieve spat at Rosalind. "You think you can just walk back into his life and claim his wealth?"
Rosalind didn't flinch this time. She stepped out from behind me, holding her head high, her voice clear and unbroken.
"I didn't come here for his wealth, Genevieve," Rosalind said. "I came here because my sons deserve to know their father. I lived in a tiny two-bedroom apartment working sixty hours a week while you sat in this palace lying to your son. I survived without a penny of your money, and I will continue to survive without it."
"Come on," I said, turning my back on my mother, leading Rosalind and the twins toward the grand staircase leading to the master guest suites. "Let’s get the boys settled."
"Christopher!" Genevieve called after us, her voice sharp with desperation. "If you walk up those stairs with her, you are destroying everything this family spent three generations building!"
I didn't look back. "Then let it burn."
We moved into the west wing of the estate—a quiet, sunlit suite of rooms overlooking the frozen lake. The house staff, many of whom had worked for the family for decades and secretly despised my mother’s cruel demeanor, quickly brought up warm meals, fresh linens, and toys that had been brought out of storage from my own childhood.
As the boys sat on the soft velvet rug in the sitting room, playing with a set of wooden trains, Rosalind stood near the balcony window, watching the snow fall over the lake.
I walked up behind her, standing close enough to feel her warmth, but giving her space.
"Are you alright?" I asked gently.
Rosalind turned to look at me, her brown eyes filled with an overwhelming mixture of relief and exhaustion. "I feel like I’m in a dream, Christopher. Four hours ago, I was sitting on a cold airport floor worrying if I had enough money to cover rent in Chicago next month. Now I’m sitting in a mansion, and you’ve just turned your entire life upside down for us."
"I didn't turn my life upside down, Rosalind," I said softly, taking her hand in mine. "I just put it right side up."
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"What happens now?" she asked, looking over at Leo and Julian, who were giggling as they crashed two train cars together.
"Now," I said, "I become the father I should have been five years ago."
