Chapter 3 - The Paperwork of Lies
By 4:00 AM, I was sitting in the high-back leather chair of my private office on the top floor of the Carter Tower. The city below was still asleep, draped in fog and morning rain.
Across from my desk sat David Sterling, my personal attorney and the only man in Chicago who knew where every body in my corporate history was buried.
"Are you completely out of your mind, Lucas?" David muttered, rubbing his temples as he looked over the private investigator's report I had just handed him. "If you file a fraud lawsuit against the Brooks Family Trust, you are declaring war on the entire political establishment of Illinois. Old man Brooks practically owns the state judiciary."
"I don't care about the judiciary," I said cold-bloodedly, swirling the dark amber bourbon in my glass. "I care about my children. Find out everything about Natalie’s current life. Every debt, every medical bill, every person she talks to."
David sighed, flipping through the folder. "I already ran a preliminary check when you called me from the hospital. Natalie Vance—she went back to her maiden name—lives in a two-bedroom rental in Oak Park. She works part-time as an online educational consultant. The fiancé... Marcus Thorne."
My hand tightened around the glass. "What about him?"
"He's a pediatric physical therapist at Mercy General," David said, pulling out a printout. "Solid guy. No criminal record, no massive debts. He’s been in the picture for about three years. By all accounts, he's been acting as a father to those kids."
"He is NOT their father!" I slammed the glass down on the desk, the bourbon splashing over the polished wood. "I am!"
"Legally? You aren't, Lucas," David warned, his voice dead serious. "You signed a clean divorce settlement six years ago with no mention of future offspring. If Natalie didn't put your name on the birth certificates—and my guess is she didn't—you have zero legal standing right now. If you try to force a paternity test through a high-powered custody battle, she can claim abandonment, emotional distress, and hide behind the state's tender-years doctrine."
"She was pregnant when I left her, David!" I yelled, standing up and pacing behind my desk. "She kept my children a secret from me for five years!"
"Because you told her you didn't love her and kicked her out!" David fired back, standing up to meet my gaze. "Think about how this looks in a family court! Billionaire husband dumps poor wife, marries elite heiress, discovers kids five years later, and uses his wealth to tear them away from the mother who raised them on a teacher's salary! A judge will rip you to pieces!"
I turned away, looking out at the black skyline. My heart was pounding like a drum beat of war.
"What about the boy?" I asked softly. "Liam. Why was he in the hospital?"
David paused, flipping to the last page of his file. His face softened with genuine pity.
"Liam has beta-thalassemia major," David said quietly. "It's a severe genetic blood disorder. He needs regular blood transfusions, specialized chelation therapy, and eventually... a bone marrow transplant."
My breath hitched in my chest. "A bone marrow transplant?"
"Yes," David said. "Natalie’s insurance covers basic hospital visits, but the specialized care at Mercy General is draining her savings. Marcus has been helping her cover the copays, but they're falling behind. That photo you received? It came from an IP address inside Mercy General's administration office."
I whirled around. "Who sent it?"
"Someone in billing who knew the kids belonged to Lucas Carter," David said. "Probably hoping for a quiet payout or to blow up your life."
"I don't care who sent it," I breathed, my mind racing at lightspeed. "They just gave me the key."
"Lucas... what are you planning?" David asked nervously.
"Mercy General is looking for a donor to fund their new pediatric oncology wing," I said, a ruthless, brilliant strategy forming in my head. "Call the hospital board. Tell them Carter Investments is donating twenty million dollars immediately—under one condition."
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"What condition?"
"I want full administrative oversight of the pediatric department," I said, pulling my suit jacket back on. "And I want Marcus Thorne transferred to the outpatient clinic in Peoria by Monday morning."
