Chapter 5 - The War Cabinet
By midnight, the Great Falls estate had transformed into a command center.
The dining room table, once laid with crystal and silver, was buried under holographic monitors, encrypted laptops, and legal binders thicker than phone books. Evelyn Vance—the formidable attorney Roman’s security chief had summoned from D.C.—sat at the head of the long table, her red hair pulled into a severe bun, her stylus tapping rhythmically against an iPad screen.
"CPS won't come in with battering rams at nine AM, Roman," Evelyn stated, her voice clipped and precise. "Silas Kincaid bought off a regional supervisor named Arthur Vance—no relation to your chief of security—and a judge who owes the Kincaid family three favors in Prince William County. They’re coming with a temporary protective custody order based on 'emergency welfare grounds.'"
Roman stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass wall overlooking the misty river valley. He wore a simple black cashmere sweater, his hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets.
"They won't step past the foyer," Roman said softly.
"If you refuse entry to state troopers with an emergency order, they will return at noon with federal marshals and a public relations circus," Evelyn countered sharply. "The Washington Post story drops at six AM. By seven, every cable news network will have trucks parked outside your front gates. By eight, the Baltimore Port Authority syndicate meets. Silas wants you arrested on live television for contempt of court while his brother Victor takes the vote in Baltimore."
"I have men in Baltimore," Roman’s chief of security, Vance, growled from the corner, cleaning the sight on his sidearm. "We can delay the syndicate vote."
"No firearms, Vance," I interjected, stepping out from the nursery corridor into the dining room.
All eyes in the room turned toward me. I was wearing a soft cream-colored cardigan over my green dress, my hair pulled back into a neat clip.
"Excuse me, Ms. Vance," Evelyn said, raising an eyebrow. "This is a high-level legal strategy session."
"And I’m the woman who fed those three boys when they were forty-eight hours away from an ICU," I said, my voice quiet, firm, and ringing with absolute clarity as I walked to the table. "You're playing Silas Kincaid's game. He wants a war of muscle and legal filings because he knows Roman has more money and blood on his hands than he does. He wants Roman to look like a violent mob boss who can't handle his own household."
Roman turned slowly from the window. His dark grey eyes locked onto mine. "What are you suggesting, Mara?"
"I’m suggesting we give CPS exactly what they’re coming to see, but not what they expect," I said, resting my hands on the edge of the mahogany table. "Arthur Vance is expecting a grieving, unstable billionaire sitting in a silent mansion with three starving infants and hired bodyguards standing over cribs."
I looked directly at Evelyn. "What happens if they walk through those front doors at nine AM and find a fully licensed, medically supervised private infant care unit run by a board-certified pediatrician, with a clear, documented nursing schedule, two thriving infants, and a mother who has signed a legal co-parenting and wet-nursing agreement?"
Evelyn paused, her stylus hovering above her tablet. A slow, razor-sharp smile spread across her face. "A co-parenting contract?"
"A temporary guardianship and maternal care agreement," I corrected. "Drafted under Virginia state law. It gives me legal decision-making power over the children’s nutritional and domestic welfare. It invalidates the emergency custody claim because the children aren't under the sole care of a 'distraught, single father.' They are under the joint care of a father and an appointed maternal guardian."
"Silas’s judge can't sign a protective order if a co-guardian with no criminal record and a clean medical bill is present on the premises," Evelyn breathed, her fingers flying across her keyboard. "It kills the emergency jurisdiction."
"And the Baltimore syndicate vote?" Vance asked, leaning forward.
"I’m going to Baltimore myself at seven AM," Roman said, his voice dropping into a register that made the glass windows vibrate slightly.
"Roman, you can't leave the estate if CPS arrives at nine!" Vance urged.
"I won't be here," Roman said, turning back to me. "Mara will."
He walked across the room until he was standing three inches away from me. The scent of cedar and rain drifted off his wool sweater. He looked down into my eyes with an intensity that made the rest of the room fade into background noise.
"You're asking to stand in the splash zone when Silas Kincaid throws his mud, Mara," Roman whispered. "If you sign a temporary guardianship contract, his people will look into every second of your past. They will pull your credit reports, your ex-fiancé, your family in Queens."
"Let them look," I said, without a single flicker of hesitation. "My credit report shows an unpaid electric bill because my ex stole four thousand dollars from our joint savings account before walking out on my seven-month-old daughter. My past is clean, Roman. It’s just poor. And being poor isn't a crime in the state of Virginia."
Roman stared at me for three long, breathless seconds.
"Evelyn," Roman commanded, his gaze never leaving my face. "Draft the guardianship papers. Give Mara full power of attorney over the boys' domestic medical care, and transfer five million dollars into an escrow account in her name tonight."
"Five million?!" I gasped, taking a step back. "Roman, no! I didn't ask for—"
"It isn't a gift, Mara," Roman said, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. "It’s armor. When CPS checks your bank account tomorrow morning, they won't see a broke single mother from Queens. They will see a woman with the financial leverage to hire any team of lawyers in the country if they try to touch those children."
He reached out, his hand hovering near my face for a fraction of a second before his fingers gently tucked a stray strand of dark hair behind my ear.
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"We fight together," Roman said.
"We fight together," I agreed.
