Chapter 5 - THE EMERGENCY PETITION
Three weeks later, I was served with an emergency custody petition.
Richard called before the courier even left my office.
“Don’t panic.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
“What’s he claiming?”
“That you relocated the children in a manner designed to interfere with his parental relationship.”
I stared at the wall.
“He signed the relocation consent.”
“I know.”
“He reviewed it with you.”
“I know.”
“He told me to go wherever I wanted.”
“I know.”
“So what exactly is emergency about this?”
Richard exhaled.
“His attorney says the children are refusing communication and that you may be encouraging alienation.”
My anger finally surfaced.
Not loud.
Cold.
“He lied to Sophia about returning to Chicago.”
“I have the messages.”
“He missed two scheduled calls.”
“I have the call logs.”
“He has used three of the last ten agreed video sessions.”
“I have that too.”
“Patricia posted photos proving he wasn’t where he claimed.”
“Send screenshots.”
“I already saved them.”
Richard paused.
“I’m glad you listen.”
“I had an excellent lawyer.”
“That’s going on my website.”
“It absolutely is not.”
He laughed.
Then became serious.
“Elena, do you know why he’s doing this now?”
“No.”
“I have a theory.”
“What?”
“His parents.”
That evening Teresa called.
I knew Richard was right before she spoke.
“Elena, this has gone too far.”
“You mean the petition?”
“You cannot keep Mark’s daughters from him.”
“I don’t.”
“He says Sophia barely speaks to him.”
“That is true.”
“You need to encourage her.”
“I encourage her to be respectful. I do not force intimacy.”
“She’s a child.”
“Yes.”
“You are filling her head with adult issues.”
“No.”
“Elena—”
“She heard your son say he wanted a real family because he was having a boy.”
Silence.
“She saw him skip her goodbye dinner for a baby celebration.”
“That is not fair.”
“She saw a photo of him at your house after he told her he had to leave Toronto because of a flight problem.”
Teresa’s voice lowered.
“That post was Patricia’s mistake.”
“No. The lie was Mark’s mistake.”
“You sound pleased.”
“I’m exhausted.”
“The girls are Vances too.”
There it was.
Not daughters.
Vances.
“What changed?”
“What do you mean?”
“Four weeks ago, your son said I should take them.”
“He was emotional.”
“He sounded relieved.”
“He didn’t understand what losing them would feel like.”
“Then he can show them.”
“That is exactly what he is trying to do.”
“By suing me?”
“By protecting his rights.”
“He waived the relocation objection.”
“He didn’t know you were going to take advantage of it immediately.”
“He knew the flight date before signing.”
Teresa had no answer.
I asked, “Why now?”
“What?”
“Why does the family suddenly care?”
“We always cared.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“No. You liked photographs with the girls. You liked Christmas cards. You liked telling people you had granddaughters at private school.”
“That is cruel.”
“You called Chloe’s unborn son ‘the future of the family’ in front of Sophia.”
Teresa went quiet.
“She told you?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t realize she heard.”
“That sentence seems popular in your family.”
“Elena, please.”
The word surprised me.
Teresa rarely said please.
“What do you want?”
“I want my granddaughters back in Chicago.”
“That isn’t happening.”
“This is their home.”
“They’re enrolled in school here. They have friends. They have their grandmother. They have stability.”
“They have family here too.”
“They have relatives.”
Teresa inhaled sharply.
“That is insulting.”
“Then become family.”
“How?”
“Call them without mentioning the baby.”
“I don’t always mention the baby.”
“Ask Sophia about math. Ask Maya about her drawings. Remember their activities. Send a card that does not say ‘from the Vance family’ like they are outsiders receiving corporate correspondence.”
“I sent birthday checks.”
“They are not shareholders.”
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
“That’s the problem.”
Two weeks later, Mark flew to Toronto for the custody hearing.
Because the original divorce jurisdiction remained in Illinois, the hearing was conducted partly by video, with Canadian family documentation submitted through counsel.
Richard sat beside me.
Mark sat beside his new attorney in Chicago.
The judge reviewed the signed relocation clause.
“Mr. Vance, did you consent to the children relocating to Toronto?”
Mark looked uncomfortable.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Were you represented?”
“Yes.”
“Was the clause explained?”
“Yes.”
“Did you object?”
“No.”
“Did you have the opportunity to object?”
“Yes.”
The judge looked over her glasses.
“Then what changed?”
Mark’s attorney spoke.
“His relationship with the children has deteriorated substantially.”
The judge looked at Mark.
“How many scheduled calls have you completed since relocation?”
Mark glanced at his attorney.
“I’m not sure.”
Richard answered.
“Four of twelve, Your Honor.”
Mark’s lawyer objected.
The judge reviewed the logs.
“Mr. Vance?”
Mark shifted.
“I had work emergencies.”
“On eight occasions?”
“Some were rescheduled.”
Richard slid documents forward.
“Only one was rescheduled within twenty-four hours.”
The judge continued.
“How many in-person visits?”
“One.”
“How long?”
“An evening.”
“You were scheduled for a weekend.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you leave?”
Mark hesitated.
“My partner had a medical concern.”
The judge looked at the photo Patricia had posted.
“Was she receiving treatment?”
“No.”
“Were you required to return?”
“I believed I was.”
“Yet you attended a family gathering?”
Mark’s jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
The judge closed the folder.
“Mr. Vance, your daughters’ reluctance to communicate may indeed be concerning.”
He nodded quickly.
“Exactly.”
“But I see no evidence that Ms. Sterling caused it.”
His face fell.
The judge continued.
“I see evidence of missed contact, inconsistent explanations and a nine-year-old child who has become aware of statements made by adults about the value of a male heir.”
Mark looked down.
“The court cannot order a child to trust a parent.”
Silence.
“It can order access. It can enforce parenting time. It cannot manufacture emotional safety.”
Mark’s attorney whispered to him.
The judge looked at me.
“Ms. Sterling, you are expected to support reasonable communication.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“You will continue scheduled calls?”
“Yes.”
“You will not disparage Mr. Vance?”
“I don’t.”
“Good.”
She looked back at Mark.
“Petition for emergency modification is denied.”
His shoulders dropped.
“However, I am ordering six sessions of remote family counseling between Mr. Vance and his daughters before extended summer visitation.”
Mark looked up.
“Counseling?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think—”
The judge interrupted.
“That sentence has already caused enough trouble, Mr. Vance.”
Richard coughed to hide a laugh.
The judge continued.
“You want a relationship with your children?”
“Yes.”
“Then show up.”
After the hearing, Mark waited in the hallway outside the conference room where I had attended remotely.
“Elena.”
I kept walking.
“Elena, wait.”
I turned.
“What?”
“You made me look like a monster.”
“No.”
“You sent the photos.”
“Your sister posted them.”
“You sent the call logs.”
“They were evidence.”
“You brought up what I said after the divorce.”
“You brought a custody petition accusing me of alienation.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I just want my daughters.”
“No.”
His head lifted.
“No?”
“You want the version of your daughters that still adored you automatically.”
“That’s not fair.”
“You don’t want to do the work required to know who they are now.”
“You think you know everything.”
“I know Sophia has stopped asking whether you’ll call.”
He flinched.
“I know Maya still draws you in pictures sometimes, but she puts you on the other side of a plane.”
His eyes lowered.
“I know they both love you.”
He looked at me.
“Then why does this feel like they hate me?”
“Because you keep measuring love by how comfortable it makes you feel.”
He stared at the floor.
“What do I do?”
“Go to counseling.”
“That’s your answer?”
“Yes.”
“I mean with them.”
“So do I.”
He swallowed.
Then his phone rang.
Chloe.
He looked at the screen.
For a second, he seemed tempted to ignore it.
Then he answered.
“Hey.”
He listened.
His face changed.
“What do you mean the bank sent auditors?”
I stopped walking.
Mark looked at me.
Chloe’s voice was faint but urgent through the phone.
He turned away.
“No. Don’t send anything until I get back.”
He hung up.
I said nothing.
Mark looked at me.
“Did you know?”
“Know what?”
“Midwest Continental initiated a vendor audit.”
“No.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
His eyes narrowed.
Then he remembered.
Weeks earlier, I had warned him.
Independent accounting.
Beneficial ownership.
Pricing history.
He had told me to stay out of his company.
May you like
Now somebody else was going in.
And this time, Mark could not blame me for opening the door.
