Chapter 4
The Safehouse and the Scars
Two hours later, Clara and Leo were inside a secure penthouse apartment owned by Arthur Vance. It was a fortress of concrete and steel, completely isolated from the media circus exploding across New York City.
Leo had finally fallen asleep on the plush velvet sofa, his small fingers still tightly clutching the hem of Clara’s blue dress. Clara sat beside him, gently stroking his soft, curly hair, her heart swelling with a mixture of profound relief and residual terror.
Arthur walked into the living room, holding two cups of warm tea. He handed one to Clara, sitting in the armchair opposite her.
"The DNA test results will be ready by 9:00 a.m. tomorrow," Arthur said quietly. "Though looking at him right now, anyone with eyes can see he has your father's features. Eleanor knew exactly what she was doing. If Leo was recognized as your biological son, seventy percent of your late father's shipping trust would have bypassed the Vance corporation entirely and landed directly in your hands on his fifth birthday."
"That birthday was last week," Clara whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. "That’s why she hosted that massive gala tonight. She wanted to announce Leo's formal adoption into the Vance primary line, locking the trust away forever."
"Exactly," Arthur nodded. "But we have a major hurdle, Clara. Eleanor’s legal team is already preparing an emergency counter-suit. They are going to use your past stay at the Briarcliff Sanatorium to claim you are unfit to act as a guardian, regardless of the DNA results."
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Clara’s hand froze over her teacup. The memory of Briarcliff was a dark, icy void. After Leo’s birth, when she had screamed that she heard her baby crying in the hallway, Eleanor had used her immense political influence to have Clara committed under a fraudulent diagnosis of postpartum psychosis. For two years, she had been heavily medicated in a locked facility until Arthur had secretly reviewed her case and helped her secure an early release.
"Let them try," Clara said, her voice hardening with an unbreakable maternal resolve. "I survived Briarcliff. I survived five years of thinking my son was dead. I will survive whatever poison Eleanor tries to throw at me next."
