Chapter 12 - The Girls Were Never the Curse
The Council met in rooms that did not officially exist.
That was how my mother explained it while Elias’s people transformed the old brownstone into a temporary fortress.
“Five families,” Evelyn said. “Not all Mafia in the old sense. Some moved into legitimate businesses decades ago. Shipping. Construction. Waste. Real estate. Politics.”
“And they vote on whether I can keep my own children’s inheritance?”
“They vote on whether they recognize your authority over Vale interests.”
“I don’t need their permission.”
Legally, Naomi agreed with me.
Practically, everyone else looked less certain.
Elias stood near the window with his wounded arm in a sling.
“The trust owns companies whose employees answer to men connected to the Council. If Ava takes control without recognition, they can paralyze operations.”
“Then let them.”
Naomi looked at me. “Thousands of legal employees could lose paychecks.”
I hated that answer.
Power always seemed to hide innocent people behind it.
“What do they want?”
Evelyn said, “Predictability.”
Elias laughed once.
“They want obedience.”
“That too.”
I paced.
“What is my seat?”
“Roman held one of five votes. After his death, Gabriel temporarily controlled Vale-aligned interests.”
I looked at Elias.
“So your father voted for my father’s empire.”
“Yes.”
“And after Gabriel disappeared?”
“Elias inherited the Vance seat,” my mother said. “The Vale seat remained dormant.”
“Until Ivy and June.”
“Yes.”
I looked toward the nursery monitor we had brought from the penthouse, this time personally inspected by three technicians.
My daughters slept.
Two tiny girls who had been called worthless had revived a seat powerful men had fought over for decades.
“They were never the curse,” I whispered.
Evelyn’s eyes filled.
“No.”
“They were the key.”
“Yes.”
That made me angry too.
“No. Stop.”
Everyone looked at me.
“They are not keys. Not heirs. Not leverage. Their names are Ivy and June.”
Elias’s mouth softened slightly.
I pointed at the table full of legal documents.
“If anyone in that Council wants to speak about them, they use their names.”
Naomi smiled.
“That may be the first useful rule anyone has made in that organization.”
The Council’s invitation arrived at noon.
Heavy black card.
No address, only coordinates and a time.
9:00 p.m.
Elias read it.
“I’m going with you.”
Evelyn immediately said, “That could be interpreted as Vance trying to control the Vale vote.”
“He already controls me terribly,” I said. “Yesterday he forced me to eat soup.”
Marco looked down to hide a smile.
Elias ignored me.
“You need security.”
“I need witnesses.”
Naomi tapped the invitation.
“Council rules permit one adviser.”
“I choose Naomi.”
Elias’s expression darkened.
“She cannot stop a bullet.”
“No, but she can read a contract before someone tricks me into signing it.”
“I can read.”
“I’ve seen your handwriting. I’m not convinced.”
For half a second, he stared at me.
Then he laughed.
It was the first real laugh I had heard from him.
Low. Brief. Surprised.
The room changed.
So did something inside my chest.
My mother noticed.
Of course she did.
Mothers apparently could fake their deaths for fourteen years and still recognize attraction.
Later, while Naomi prepared, Evelyn found me alone with the twins.
“You trust him.”
“I trust what he has done so far.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“I know.”
She sat across from me.
“Gabriel was like that once.”
I stiffened.
“Don’t.”
“I’m not warning you away from Elias.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Warning you not to turn gratitude into surrender.”
I looked at her.
“You think I would?”
“I did.”
That silenced me.
“With Roman?”
“Yes.”
She touched June’s blanket.
“I was poor. He noticed me. Suddenly restaurants had doors I had never entered. People remembered my name. I mistook being chosen for being valued.”
I swallowed.
“Elias didn’t choose me.”
“No?”
“He found me half-dead under a bridge.”
“Sometimes rescue is more intoxicating than romance.”
I hated how much sense that made.
She stood.
“Make sure you can tell the difference.”
At nine, Naomi and I entered a private dining room above an old Manhattan social club.
No phones.
No weapons.
Five chairs surrounded the table.
Four were occupied.
Victor Miller sat in one.
My blood ran cold.
He smiled.
“Ava.”
I stopped walking.
The man who had stood in my apartment hours after I gave birth, who had looked at my daughters and called them defective, now wore a tailored tuxedo and the expression of a grandfather at Christmas.
“You look well.”
“You look disappointingly alive.”
Naomi touched my elbow.
Victor’s smile tightened.
The other members introduced themselves: Teresa Moretti, elegant and silver-haired; Samuel Cho, a logistics magnate; Desmond Pike, real-estate king; and an empty chair marked VALE.
Mine.
I sat.
Victor leaned forward.
“Where are my granddaughters?”
“Ivy and June are safe.”
His eyes flickered at the names.
“Of course.”
I smiled.
“You forgot them already?”
Teresa Moretti hid amusement behind her wineglass.
The meeting began.
Victor argued that my association with Elias Vance made me unfit.
Naomi produced evidence that I had never been charged with a crime.
Victor cited abandonment concerns.
I stared at him.
“You want to discuss abandonment?”
He smiled.
“Careful.”
“No. You be careful.”
I placed Miriam’s affidavit on the table.
“She witnessed your son order me removed from my home hours after childbirth.”
Victor’s face changed.
I added photographs of my injuries.
“Hospital records.”
Then the underpass photo.
“Temperature that night was below freezing.”
Samuel Cho stopped reading and looked at Victor with disgust.
“You knew?”
Victor said nothing.
Teresa asked, “Did Caleb abandon newborn beneficiaries?”
“Allegedly.”
I leaned forward.
“Their names are Ivy and June.”
Teresa nodded.
“Did Caleb abandon Ivy and June?”
Victor’s jaw clenched.
“Yes.”
The word shocked me.
Naomi’s pen stopped.
Victor continued.
“Because I told him to.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why would you admit that?”
“Because it doesn’t matter anymore.”
The dining-room doors opened.
Caleb walked in.
He looked exhausted, frightened, and triumphant.
“Sorry I’m late.”
I stood.
Victor smiled.
“My son has evidence Ava Miller is not Roman Vale’s legitimate heir.”
Naomi whispered, “Impossible.”
Caleb placed a DNA report on the table.
I stared at it.
Victor said, “Roman was not Ava’s father.”
My mind reeled.
“That was already confirmed.”
“His bloodline was confirmed,” Victor said. “Not paternity.”
I looked at Naomi.
She read the report.
Her face changed.
“Ava.”
“What?”
She turned the paper toward me.
The genetic analysis identified Roman Vale as my close biological relative.
But not my father.
Estimated relationship: uncle.
My mother had lied again.
I stood so quickly the chair fell behind me.
“Who is my father?”
May you like
Victor smiled.
“That is the question the Council will be voting on.”
