Chapter 97: But His Boss Wasn't Moving

Vance didn't even flinch under the crushing weight of his boss's stare. He calmly reached into his leather briefcase, pulled out a pair of silver reading glasses, and flipped through the thick stack of papers on the marble island. A deeply cynical, thoroughly unimpressed smirk touched the corner of the lawyer's mouth.

"Okay, I'm corporate, not a family law specialist, Thomas," Vance started, his tone laced with professional disgust. "But I don't think they have a single leg to stand on."

He tossed the first few pages aside dismissively. "For starters, there's a drafted note tucked in here boldly stating that they 'would think about money' to make this all go away. It’s a thinly veiled extortion attempt. They are claiming they had no idea the baby was handed over to—and I quote—'that monster's sister,' or they supposedly would have taken the baby themselves."

Leona flinched at the cruel reference to her brother Chad, the painful memories of the farm threatening to surface, but Owen’s arm instantly tightened like an iron band around her waist, anchoring her to the present.

"But honestly, I don't even know what back-alley paralegal they paid to write these up," Vance continued, shaking his head. He tapped a manicured finger against the document. "Throughout the entire petition, they only refer to her as 'the infant.'"

Vance paused, slowly lifting his gaze from the paperwork. He looked across the kitchen at Thomas, who was currently balancing a very vibrant, heavy, babbling toddler on his hip. The lawyer raised an incredulous eyebrow, the absurdity of the situation laid bare.

"They never once state her name," Vance pointed out dryly. "They don't specify whether Olive is a boy or a girl. They couldn't even provide a date of birth. It’s completely boilerplate. Leona, just to clarify the timeline—Olive was born before your brother did what he did, correct?"

"Yes," Leona answered.

The sheer incompetence of the legal filing was beginning to cut through her panic. The terrified tears stopped, quickly replaced by the fierce, burning heat of a protective mother who knew the truth.

"She was barely three months old when we got her," Leona explained, her voice growing stronger and steadier with every word. "Chad hadn't even seen her. Tiffany had already left him, and her parents had completely thrown her out on the street. So when she left my brother, she moved into a place of her own. I still don't even know who was watching Olive for her when she would go to work and try to survive."

Leona shifted Hazel in her arms, taking a deep breath. She looked at her oldest daughter, safe and fiercely loved in her grandfather's arms, and her dark eyes hardened into pure, unyielding fire.

"Plus," Leona added, her voice dropping into a tone of absolute, unbreakable conviction, "Tiffany had been in and out of the foster care system her entire life because of those two people. They are completely unfit. They are never touching my daughter."

The last trace of Leona's panic completely evaporated, instantly incinerated by a sudden, white-hot flare of absolute maternal fury. She stood taller in the sunlit penthouse, cradling the sleeping newborn protectively to her chest, while her dark eyes locked onto the pathetic legal papers scattered on the marble island.

"I don't even care if they think they can get grandparents' rights," Leona stated. Her voice was no longer wavering with fear; it was laced with a lethal, dangerous edge that perfectly echoed the ruthless men standing in the room. "I'll kill them myself before I'll let them lay eyes on so much as a picture of my baby."

Beside her, Owen let out a low, incredibly proud breath. His arm tightened possessively around her waist, a dark, approving smirk touching his lips as he looked down at his fiercely protective wife. This was the unyielding fire he loved so much. Across the room, Thomas Stark’s chest rumbled with a similar, deeply satisfied sound. He held Olive securely against his side, practically beaming with pride at his daughter\-in\-law's ferocity. She was a true Stark now, ready to go to war for her own.

Leona's mind raced, her eyes narrowing as the pieces suddenly clicked together. "And you know exactly where that bit about the money had to have come from," she said, her voice hardening. "They're looking for a payout."

Owen’s jaw tightened. "We didn't give Tiffany a single dime when she signed those adoption papers," he stated, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "She just wanted to wash her hands of the responsibility and walk away."

Vance slowly pushed his silver reading glasses down the bridge of his nose, giving a short, confirming nod.

"Exactly," the lawyer agreed smoothly, tapping his manicured finger directly against the extortion demand in the paperwork. "Which means they found out another way. Owen, you're a high-profile billionaire. Your marriage to Leona made the society pages, the business journals... hell, even the local tabloids. It wouldn't take a genius to connect the dots."

"Tiffany's parents probably saw a picture of the two of you in the press," Vance explained, laying out the ugly truth. "They realized Chad's sister married into the Stark empire. They saw the Stark name, realized you officially adopted Olive, and suddenly decided they are the grieving, loving grandparents. This isn't about Olive, Leona. It never was. It's a clumsy, desperate cash grab by two entirely unfit people who think they can use the legal system to scare a billionaire into writing a massive check just to make them go away."

Vance clicked the gold clasps of his heavy leather briefcase shut, the sharp, final sound echoing in the quiet kitchen. He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored suit, fully prepared to head back to the downtown office and immediately launch a scorched-earth legal war.

But his boss wasn't moving.

Vance looked up and paused. Thomas Stark, the terrifying, unyielding patriarch of the Zenith empire, was currently deeply engaged in a highly complex, entirely one-sided conversation with a babbling toddler.

Olive was squirming excitedly in her grandfather's massive arms. She had her chubby little arm fully extended, a tiny finger pointing insistently toward the sprawling, sunlit floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of the penthouse. She babbled a string of urgent, emphatic syllables, clearly giving her grandfather an important directive.

Thomas looked at the empty expanse of glass, clearly at a loss. He turned, looking over his shoulder at Owen and Leona, and raised a thick, questioning eyebrow.

Owen just offered a helpless, deeply fond shrug, his dimples flashing.

Leona stepped closer, a tired but genuine smile finally breaking through the lingering, icy stress of the morning. "Owen likes to discuss architecture with her at the window," she explained softly, gently rocking a sleeping Hazel against her chest. "It's their morning routine."