Chapter 6 - The Confrontation
The peace did not last long.
By three o'clock that afternoon, James Morrison called Michael back. His voice was tense.
"Michael, we have a problem," Morrison said. "We filed the emergency petition, and Judge Vance granted the temporary protection order, freezing the trust and suspending Marcus's guardianship. But Marcus was served the papers an hour ago at his residence."
"And?"
"He went ballistic," Morrison warned. "He told the court server that you kidnapped his niece. He’s claiming that as a billionaire, you used your power to snatch a child off the street and that he’s going to the press and the police right now to file kidnapping charges against you."
Michael’s eyes darkened. "He's desperate."
"He's more than desperate," Morrison said. "He knows if he gets arrested for abuse, he goes to prison for a long time. He’s trying to flip the narrative and make you look like a wealthy predator using your influence to take poor people's children. If the media gets hold of this before the DCFS investigator finishes her report, it could turn into a public nightmare."
"I don't care about my reputation, James," Michael snapped. "I care about Mia's safety."
"I know, but you need to be smart," Morrison advised. "The court appointed a guardian ad litem—a court investigator named Eleanor Vance—to interview Mia today at five PM at your home. She will determine if Mia stays with you temporarily or goes to a foster facility. Everything depends on what Mia says to Eleanor."
Before Michael could respond, his cell phone rang on call waiting. The caller ID was an unknown, unlisted Chicago number.
"Hold on, James," Michael said, switching lines. "Hello?"
"Patterson," a raspy, harsh voice growled over the line. "You picked up the wrong piece of trash in that alley."
Michael’s posture straightened instantly, his body locking into rigid tension. "Marcus."
"Listen to me, you arrogant bastard," Marcus sneered, his heavy breathing audible over the speaker. "I know who you are. You got billions, you got tall buildings, you think you own this city. But that girl is my legal property until a judge says otherwise. You took her without my permission. That's kidnapping."
"You locked a six-year-old child in an unheated basement and starved her," Michael said, his voice dropping into a quiet, icy tone that was far more dangerous than yelling. "You beat her. You used her to try and steal her dead mother's money. You aren't getting her back, Marcus. Ever."
"We'll see about that," Marcus barked. "You drop that court injunction and hand over the trust release forms by six o'clock tonight, or I walk into the central police station with three news crews and tell them Michael Patterson bought a kid off the street. Let's see what that does to your precious stock prices."
"Do whatever you want with the news, Marcus," Michael said calmly. "But listen to me very carefully. If you set foot anywhere near my children, my house, or my office, you won't live long enough to see a courtroom."
Michael hung up the phone before Marcus could reply.
He stood in his office, his heart hammering in his chest, not out of fear for himself, but out of absolute determination to protect the little girl sleeping down the hall.
He walked down to the front security gate. David Vance was standing near the entrance, talking quietly to two security personnel in sharp black suits.
"Vance," Michael said. "Marcus just called. He's cornered, and he's making threats."
"I figured," Vance said calmly. "My guys are stationed at every entrance. The building security system is fully active. No one gets in."
"He might try something desperate before the social worker arrives at five," Michael said. "Keep your eyes open."
At 4:45 PM, a black sedan pulled up to the security gates of the Patterson residence. A woman with short grey hair, wearing a dark navy suit and carrying a leather briefcase, stepped out.
It was Eleanor Vance, the court-appointed guardian ad litem.
Michael met her at the front door. "Ms. Vance. Thank you for coming so quickly."
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Eleanor looked at Michael with a professional, unreadable expression. "Mr. Patterson. I've read the emergency petition filed by Mr. Morrison, and I've read the counter-complaint filed by Mr. Marcus Miller. This is a highly unusual and deeply concerning situation. I am here to speak with Mia privately."
"She's in the sunroom with my daughter," Michael said, stepping aside. "Please, follow me."
