“The court won’t see it that way. They’ll see a woman who made a mistake and spent years getting healthy so she could come back.” His voice hardens. “David, I need to be clear. This petition has a real chance of succeeding. Not full custody—I don’t think any judge would go that far—but visitation. That’s a real possibility.”
I hear myself laugh, sharp, ugly. “Why? To play house for an hour a week? To post a photo online? She didn’t want Michaela when she was hers to keep. Why now?”
“That question won’t help us.” His tone is dull as a blunted razor. “She is not coming for parental rights because she wants to change diapers. This is about legacy, reputation—maybe about hurting you. Maybe about proving she can.” His voice drops. “Her new husband’s name is Canning. Thomas Canning, the venture capitalist out of San Francisco.”
That turns my stomach. I know the Canfield Group, know Canning’s reputation for buying what he wants regardless of market price, and my father would never bring up the new husband’s name unless it mattered. It’s not about Kelsie. It’s about the leverage behind her this time—the optics involved with being married to a billionaire with a PR team. I pinch the bridge of my nose and force my breathing even. “What do I need to do?”
“Document everything. Every school event, every bedtime routine, every piece of evidence that Michaela is thriving in your care.” A pause. “It would help if you had character witnesses. Teachers, coaches—people who can speak to your involvement in her life. And David?”
“Yeah?”
“I know we haven’t always...” He trails off, and I can picture him in his office, jaw tight, the way it gets when emotionsthreaten to breach his professional armor. “I won’t let her take your daughter. Whatever it costs.”
It’s the closest thing to affection my father has offered in years.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“I’ll send the filing to your office. Read it tonight. We’ll strategize tomorrow.” He hangs up without saying goodbye, and I’m left standing in the hallway, wondering how everything went sideways so fast.
I take a breath. Then another. I need to get back in there. We have two more potential clients coming in this afternoon, and I can’t fall apart in the hallway of the firm I just opened.
Compartmentalize. That’s what Kingsleys do.
I’m reaching for the conference room door when my phone vibrates again.
Michaela’s School.
My blood turns to ice.
“Mr. Kingsley.” The receptionist’s voice is strained. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but we have a situation. Ms. Kelsie Hartley came to the school with some legal paperwork. She tried to sign Michaela out for an early pickup.”
The hallway tilts. “She was just there? Today?”
“About twenty minutes ago. We didn’t release Michaela to her, of course—she’s not on any authorized list, and we need to officially verify any changes with all parties. But… there was a confrontation in the hallway. Michaela saw her before we could intervene.”
“Is she OK?”
“She’s... upset. Very upset. She’s in Principal Harrison’s office now. We’ve tried reaching your nanny, but she’s not answering, and Michaela keeps asking for you.”
Twenty minutes ago. Which means Kelsie filed the petition and then went straight to the school. A coordinated attack.Establish the legal claim, then show up in person to demonstrate her ‘commitment to reconnecting.’ Her lawyers probably coached her on exactly how to play it.
Fuck.
Caleb steps into the hallway, his expression tight. “David. I need you in the conference room. Now.”
I glance past him. It’s a shitshow inside the conference room. Our new associate is trying to placate the founder, who’s on the verge of tears over something in our terms. Crap.
“Just give me two more minutes,” I tell Caleb, who gives a curt nod and slips back inside. I press my cell back to my ear. “Can you put me through to Principal Harrison?”
“Of course.”
There’s a pause, then Nora’s voice comes on the line. Calm. Steady. The same voice that talked me through the first Kelsie incident months ago, when this nightmare started.
“David. Michaela’s OK. Shaken, but OK. She’s coloring in my office right now.”
“Thank you, Nora,” I say. The relief hits so hard I almost drop the phone. “Is she… did she see Kelsie? Did they talk?”
“She saw her,” Nora confirms, voice so gentle I want to punch a wall. “But only for a few seconds. Kelsie tried to approach, though we intervened before there was an altercation. Michaela got scared. She started to cry. We brought her here. She asked for you, and the moment I said I’d call, she calmed down.”
