Chapter 4 - THE FOUR-BILLION-DOLLAR TWINS
By noon, three lawyers, two forensic accountants and one retired federal prosecutor occupied Griffin’s private conference room.
Sloan sat at one end of the table.
Griffin sat at the other.
Hazel and Iris were upstairs with a tutor, although neither had done much schoolwork.
Sloan could not blame them.
Yesterday they were ordinary children.
Today they were billionaire heirs.
The trust agreement sat between Sloan and Griffin.
Malcolm Drake had created it eighteen months before his death.
Forty-one percent of voting shares in Drake Applied Systems would transfer to Griffin’s biological descendants at birth.
If Griffin had no descendants by age forty-five, the shares passed to Richard.
Griffin was forty.
Richard had expected five more years.
Then Hazel called.
Griffin’s attorney, Naomi Chen, tapped the document.
“Richard has petitioned to freeze voting rights until paternity is independently established.”
“Fine,” Griffin said. “Test us.”
Sloan looked at him.
“You don’t need to sound excited.”
“I’m not excited.”
“You look like you want to stab the paperwork.”
“I want to stab Richard.”
Naomi ignored that.
“We perform legal DNA testing today.”
“Then what?”
“If Griffin is confirmed as the father, Richard’s claim becomes much weaker.”
“Much weaker?”
Sloan disliked qualifiers.
Naomi turned a page.
“He may allege fraud.”
“What fraud?”
“That Sloan concealed the births to manipulate the trust.”
Sloan laughed.
“That makes no sense.”
“He doesn’t need a strong claim initially. He needs delay.”
“Why?”
Griffin answered.
“Because Drake Applied owns patents used by my current company.”
Naomi nodded.
“If Richard gains temporary voting control, he can challenge licensing agreements worth billions.”
Sloan looked at Griffin.
“So the girls are leverage against your company again.”
His eyes met hers.
“No.”
“They are.”
“Only if I let the company matter more than they do.”
That answer silenced her.
Eight years ago, fear convinced Sloan that Griffin would sacrifice everything for them.
Now she was finally seeing what that actually meant.
He turned to Naomi.
“If preserving the girls’ privacy requires me to surrender those shares, do it.”
Every lawyer stopped.
Naomi blinked.
“Griffin.”
“You heard me.”
“You cannot casually surrender four billion dollars.”
“They’re not mine.”
“They’re your daughters’.”
“Then place them in an independent trust with no operational role.”
Sloan watched him.
“You’d give up control?”
“Yes.”
“Immediately?”
He looked at her like the question offended him.
“Yes.”
Something inside Sloan hurt.
Because eight years ago, she had believed Griffin would choose his children.
She had been right.
She had just never trusted him enough to let him prove it.
The DNA appointment happened privately that afternoon.
Hazel hated the cheek swab.
“This is stupid. We have the same eyebrows.”
Iris studied Griffin.
“Actually, Hazel does.”
“Whose eyebrows do you have?”
“Mom’s.”
Hazel pointed at Griffin.
“I got his attitude.”
Griffin looked at Sloan.
“I object.”
“You shouldn’t.”
The results would take twenty-four hours.
That evening, Sloan returned to her duplex with security to collect clothes.
Griffin came.
“You don’t need to.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because someone photographed our daughters inside a hospital.”
“Our daughters.”
She said it quietly.
He stopped.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No. You did the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you hear something and then disappear into your head.”
Sloan sighed.
“You say ‘our daughters’ like it has always been true for you.”
“It has always been true. I just didn’t know.”
That hurt too.
She unlocked the front door.
The house looked exactly as she had left it.
Blueprints on the floor.
Broken coffee mug.
A faint dried water stain near the table.
Griffin stared at the place Sloan had collapsed.
Then he noticed the photographs.
School pictures.
Birthdays.
Christmas mornings.
Hazel missing both front teeth.
Iris asleep beside a science project.
Eight years of his daughters lived on one hallway wall.
Griffin approached slowly.
He touched nothing.
Sloan stood behind him.
“You can take copies.”
He laughed without humor.
“Copies.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know.”
He studied a photograph of the girls at age three.
“What were their first words?”
“Hazel said ‘dog.’”
“She likes dogs?”
“She likes every animal until it requires cleaning.”
“And Iris?”
“‘Light.’”
Griffin smiled faintly.
“That tracks.”
“You’ve known her for a day.”
“I know.”
The smile disappeared.
He moved to another photograph.
“Did they ask about their father?”
Sloan swallowed.
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
“That I loved him very much and he wasn’t part of our lives.”
“That’s it?”
“When they got older, I said it was complicated.”
“Did you tell them I left?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He turned.
“Thank you for not lying about that.”
The sentence was gentler than she deserved.
Sloan looked away.
Then Griffin noticed a photograph on the bookshelf.
Not the girls.
A wedding.
Sloan’s younger brother, Ethan.
Griffin stared at a man in the background.
“Who is that?”
Sloan followed his gaze.
“My mother’s cousin. Daniel Cross.”
“No.”
Griffin stepped closer.
“What?”
“I know him.”
“From where?”
“He worked for Richard.”
Sloan’s stomach tightened.
“Daniel?”
“He was compliance director at Drake Applied twelve years ago.”
“That’s impossible. He told us he worked for a bank.”
Griffin picked up the frame.
“When was this?”
“Six years ago.”
Daniel had attended birthdays.
Thanksgiving.
Hazel’s preschool graduation.
He knew where Sloan lived.
Knew the girls.
Knew everything.
Sloan’s phone vibrated.
Her mother.
She answered.
“Mom?”
“Sloan.”
Her mother sounded terrified.
“What happened?”
“Daniel is here.”
Every muscle in Sloan’s body locked.
“At your house?”
“Yes.”
“He says Griffin is trying to steal the twins from you.”
Griffin took the phone.
“Margaret, lock yourself in a room.”
Daniel’s voice suddenly sounded in the background.
“Too late.”
A struggle.
Her mother cried out.
Then Daniel came onto the line.
“Hello, Griffin.”
Griffin’s face became ice.
“Where is Margaret?”
“Fine.”
“What do you want?”
“The trust records Sloan has.”
Sloan frowned.
“I don’t have trust records.”
Daniel laughed.
“Her father did.”
“My father?” Sloan whispered.
Daniel heard.
“That’s the problem with families, Sloan. Everyone keeps secrets.”
The line went dead.
Sloan stared at Griffin.
“My father died twelve years ago.”
“Before Malcolm?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
“He was an attorney.”
“What kind?”
“Estate planning.”
Griffin’s expression changed.
Sloan understood a second later.
Her father had not been randomly connected to the Drake family.
He had helped create Malcolm’s trust.
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And whatever he had hidden was important enough that Richard’s people had spent more than a decade looking for it.
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