Chapter 7 - Elise
Motherhood rearranged the scale of everything.
For twelve hours, I did not care about Adrian.
Or Julian.
Or Victoria.
I cared that Elise latched.
That her oxygen saturation stayed normal.
That her fingers were absurdly long.
That she had dark hair despite both Julian and me being light haired as children.
My mother said Sterling babies always came out looking angry.
My father said:
“She has your chin.”
I said:
“She has a face. That’s enough.”
For one day, legal chaos waited.
Then Rebecca Hale entered with a folder.
“I hate being this person.”
“Be it.”
“Julian filed for access to Elise.”
I stared.
“He’s her father.”
“Yes.”
“Is he allowed?”
“Parentage is not disputed. But given the circumstances, any contact will be controlled by court and local authorities.”
“Does he know she’s born?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Hospital notification through counsel.”
I closed eyes.
He had a right to know.
I hated that.
Rights are hardest when they protect someone you despise.
Julian requested video call.
I said no initially.
Then reconsidered.
Not because forgiveness.
Because Elise was his daughter too unless court found reason to restrict.
Rebecca said:
“You can wait until medically stable.”
I did.
Three days later, Julian appeared on screen from an attorney’s office.
He looked terrible.
“Genevieve.”
“Elise is here.”
He covered mouth.
I turned camera briefly.
Our daughter slept.
Julian cried.
I watched.
Then he said:
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
He stopped.
“You’re sorry for affair?”
“Yes.”
“For the stunt?”
“Yes.”
“For giving me pills?”
“I didn’t know.”
“For knowing Victoria planned to put me on a jet ski after I said no?”
His face collapsed.
“Yes.”
“For wanting me scared enough to sign?”
Silence.
There.
“Julian.”
“Adrian told me you were going to take everything.”
“So you terrorized me?”
“I thought it would be controlled.”
“You watched through binoculars.”
“I was supposed to stop it if…”
“If what?”
“I don’t know.”
Exactly.
He had not thought far enough because consequences were supposed to land on me.
He asked:
“Can I see Elise again?”
“Through lawyers.”
“Genevieve.”
“I am not discussing custody with you.”
Then:
“Did you know Northstar was mine?”
His eyes changed.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Three months.”
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
“I was humiliated.”
I laughed.
“I saved your company.”
“You lied.”
“Yes.”
“You made me think I built it without you.”
“You built the product. Northstar financed survival.”
“You let me celebrate some faceless investor while you…”
“While I protected your pride.”
“That’s not love.”
“No.”
For first time, I admitted my mistake too.
Secrecy had not caused his actions.
But secrecy was not healthy.
I had tested whether he loved me without wealth by hiding wealth inside marriage.
That was manipulation of a softer kind.
I said:
“I should have told you.”
He looked shocked.
“But that does not explain what you did.”
His shoulders fell.
“I know.”
That was the first honest moment we had left.
The call ended.
Our marriage was over.
No dramatic vow.
I knew.
The divorce filing happened in Virginia once Elise and I returned.
Before we flew, Mexican authorities formally charged Victoria with offenses related to unlawful restraint, endangerment, and participation in drugging/coercive conduct, with exact prosecution governed by local law.
Julian faced charges connected to conspiracy/coercion/endangerment and medication administration allegations, though toxicology could not establish precisely who physically supplied the drug.
Adrian faced financial and conspiracy related investigations spanning U.S. and Mexico.
Three cases.
Different systems.
Slow.
Evidence heavy.
Then Sterling Trust audit began.
What it found was worse than the jet ski financing.
Adrian had moved $26 million across private investments over seven years.
Not all stolen.
Some hidden losses.
Some unauthorized related party loans.
Some inflated valuations.
Vance Meridian was only one piece.
May you like
And one transaction carried Julian’s signature.
Dated eighteen months before he claimed to know Adrian personally.
