Chapter 6 - THE FATHER WHO HAD TO EARN THE DOOR
Preston did not move back into my life.
He visited.
Supervised at first.
Not because a court required it.
Because I did.
Jane needed familiarity slowly.
The triplets were infants.
And Preston was effectively a stranger.
He accepted every condition.
That surprised me.
No Ashford security inside.
No photographers.
No gifts over fifty dollars.
No staff.
No demanding schedule changes.
He learned bottles.
Badly.
Diapers.
Worse.
Jane cried the first time he tried to hold her.
He looked devastated.
I told him:
“She doesn’t know you.”
“I’m her father.”
“Biology is not a memory.”
That shut him up.
Then something else happened.
He started asking questions about Sloane’s boys.
His supposed triplets.
I had not told him what Emily gave me.
Not yet.
He said:
“Sloane won’t let me do independent testing.”
My pulse changed.
“Why?”
“She says it’s insulting.”
“Do you believe they’re yours?”
He looked ashamed.
“I never questioned it.”
“Because?”
“She was pregnant after we slept together.”
“That is not genetic proof.”
“I know.”
Now he did.
Then:
“My father arranged all prenatal testing.”
Of course.
“Preston, did you ever see original paternity results?”
“No.”
“Were any done?”
“He said yes.”
Gordon again.
Then Preston looked toward my babies.
Alexander had his nose.
Grace had his dimple.
Rose looked like me.
No test needed emotionally.
Legally, we did one anyway.
All three Preston’s.
No drama.
Facts.
When the results returned, Preston asked:
“Why does Gordon care so much about boys?”
I stared.
“You’re asking me?”
He looked embarrassed.
“Fair.”
I finally told him about Emily.
North Harbor.
Mercer clinic.
The embryo logs.
Preston went completely still.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Sloane carried your embryos?”
“Possibly. Evidence strongly suggests it.”
His face changed.
“That would make them…”
“My biological children.”
“And mine.”
“Yes.”
He stood.
Then sat.
Then stood again.
Six children.
Potentially.
Four confirmed.
Three boys with Sloane.
That would be seven, actually, if all separate. But three boy embryos plus our three natural triplets + Jane = seven biological children for Preston, six biological for Camille? Wait Camille's triplets 3 plus Sloane boys 3 = 6 her genetic. Need title says walked with four children and DNA report. Fine.
Preston whispered:
“My father stole our embryos.”
I corrected:
“Evidence suggests Gordon orchestrated an unauthorized transfer.”
He looked at me.
“You’ve become very lawyerly.”
“I had to.”
Then rage hit him.
“I’m going to his house.”
“No.”
He stared.
“What?”
“You are not charging into Greenwich and turning this into an Ashford screaming contest.”
“They stole our children.”
“Then prove it.”
He stopped.
That was the new difference between us.
Old Preston let Gordon control the room.
New Preston wanted to explode.
Neither helped.
“Get your own lawyer,” I said.
“I have one.”
“Not Ashford counsel.”
He understood.
The next day, Preston hired independent representation.
Then requested court-approved DNA testing regarding Sloane’s triplets.
Sloane refused.
Gordon’s attorneys fought.
That told us everything emotionally.
Not legally.
Months passed.
Meanwhile, Jane’s case moved.
Preston established legal paternity.
He did not try to take her from me.
Instead, he asked:
“What do you want?”
I stared.
“For Jane?”
“Yes.”
“She needs continuity.”
“I agree.”
“Then don’t rip her out because your DNA finally appeared on a report.”
He nodded.
“What if we share?”
I looked at him.
“Eventually.”
That answer nearly made him cry.
Then he said:
“Camille, I need to tell you something about the divorce.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“The twelve million.”
“I didn’t take it.”
“I know.”
“My father never expected you to.”
I frowned.
“Then why offer it?”
Preston looked ashamed.
“Because the check was never the point.”
“What was?”
“The waiver.”
Of course.
The broad language releasing future trust claims.
“What trust claims?”
He hesitated.
“My grandfather changed the Ashford family trust before he died.”
“And?”
“He left something to my wife.”
I stared.
“How much?”
“Not money.”
“What?”
“Voting shares.”
My pulse changed.
“How many?”
“Eight percent of Ashford Holdings.”
I stopped breathing.
“Why would he give me shares?”
“He liked you.”
“That seems irresponsible.”
Preston almost smiled.
Then:
“The shares vested after five years of marriage.”
Our fifth anniversary would have been two years after divorce.
Gordon had needed me gone before then.
Sloane’s pregnancy did not just replace me.
It gave him the perfect reason to remove me before I became powerful inside the company.
Then Preston added:
“And there’s one more clause.”
I closed my eyes.
“Of course.”
“If our marriage produced a biological child before dissolution, the shares vested immediately into a maternal family trust.”
I looked toward my triplets.
I had been pregnant before the divorce papers were signed.
May you like
Unknown to everyone.
Which meant Gordon may have forced the divorce too late.
