Chapter 14 - The Paper That Couldn't Own a Baby

"You signed what?" I asked.

Claire sat at the kitchen table, shaking. "Daniel took me to an attorney after the fire. They told me there was a trust fund for victims. They said the paperwork would protect me from lawsuits tied to my mother's work."

"Did you read it?"

"I was seventeen. I read what they pointed at. Later, I found a clause about genetic descendants and custody rights. I thought it was meaningless."

I pulled up the document she'd kept in an encrypted folder. The language was deliberately tangled, but one thing was clear: a private corporation claimed an option to petition for custody of a future child connected to certain family lines.

"This wouldn't hold up in court," I said.

"I know that now. But people like Celia Voss don't need to win in court. They just need to terrify us into running."

I called a family-law attorney recommended by Vega. Dana Ortiz answered from home, read the clause, and swore under her breath.

"An agreement like this does not make a child property," she said. "No one can buy the right to someone else's future baby with a signature from a frightened minor. We'll seek an emergency protective order and notify the court."

Claire's shoulders dropped for the first time in days.

Dana wasn't finished. "There's a reason they want you to believe otherwise. The document may be evidence of coercion. Do not destroy it."

Vega arrived before dawn. A team had found tire tracks behind the farmhouse, but nobody saw who threw the brick. She reviewed our security plan and promised we'd have a new location by noon.

I told her about the demand to visit the clinic.

"We won't send Claire as bait," Vega said. "But we can use the meeting time to watch who shows up."

At 5:42 a.m., my phone rang from a blocked number.

Martin Hale's voice came through clearly. "You really should stop inviting police to family business."

"You don't have a claim to my family."

"You're right," he said. "Celia does. And she's tired of waiting."

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A second voice joined the call. A woman's voice, low and icy.

"Hello, Claire," she said. "Your mother and I never finished our conversation."