Chapter 3 - The Backpack and the Forgery
The elevator doors slid open silently on the top floor of the 72nd Street tower.
Adrian stepped out into the grand foyer of his penthouse. The warm ambient lighting illuminated the minimalist hardwood floors, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glowing Manhattan skyline, and the plush white leather sofas.
Standing in the middle of the living room were four tiny boys, all wearing oversized gray t-shirts provided by his housekeeper, eating fresh turkey sandwiches at the marble kitchen island.
Claire was standing by the window, a cup of chamomile tea untouched in her hands, her dark hair wet from the rain.
When the heavy front door clicked shut, all four boys turned around.
"Mister!" Leo yelled, his mouth half-full of turkey. "Your house is huge! It has a TV as big as a car!"
"Leo, manners," Claire scolded gently, stepping forward. She looked at Adrian, her eyes taking in his wet hair and ruined tux jacket. "You... you actually left them?"
"I walked out," Adrian said, tossing his keys onto the foyer table. "The engagement is over."
Claire stared at him in utter shock. "Adrian... that was a $180 million deal. Your mother said it was the only thing keeping your father's company alive."
"My father's company isn't worth losing my soul for," Adrian said, walking toward the kitchen island. He looked down at the four boys, his eyes softening. He knelt on the hardwood floor so he was at eye level with them. "Are you boys warm?"
Matthew nodded solemnly. "The bed in the back room is huge. We can all fit in it together."
"You don't have to fit together," Adrian smiled faintly, a lump forming in his throat. "There are four guest bedrooms."
Noah looked at Claire. "Mommy, can we sleep in four bedrooms?"
"We're leaving in the morning, boys," Claire reminded them softly, though her voice lacked conviction.
While the boys finished their sandwiches, Adrian noticed four faded blue backpacks sitting by the entryway bench. One of them—the one with a small tear on the side pocket—belonged to Matthew. A thick, folded manila document was sticking out of the torn mesh pocket.
"What's this?" Adrian asked, picking up the folder.
"Don't touch that!" Claire said quickly, taking a step toward him. "Those are the medical and legal papers from the clinic in upstate New York where I gave birth. I keep them in their bags in case... in case we ever get stopped by social services."
Adrian opened the folder. Inside were four official birth certificates from Saint Jude’s Hospital in Westchester, dated six years ago.
Under Mother, it read: Claire Evelyn Sterling.
Under Father, it read: Declined to State.
But attached to the back of the birth certificates was a legal document printed on heavy bond paper—a Non-Disclosure and Parental Rights Surrender Agreement, dated two days after the birth.
At the bottom of the document were two signatures.
One was Claire’s signature, shaky and faint.
The second signature was supposed to be Adrian’s.
Adrian Vance.
Adrian stared at the ink.
The flourish on the 'A' was too sharp. The loop on the 'V' was dragged too far to the left. To an untrained eye, it looked like his signature. But Adrian had a rare vascular condition in his right hand that caused his thumb to tremble slightly whenever he signed heavy legal contracts—a distinct micro-notch on the top loop of his 'A'.
That notch was missing.
"Claire," Adrian whispered, his blood running colder than the rain outside. "Where did you get this paper?"
"Your mother brought it to the hospital ward twelve hours after I delivered quadruplets by emergency C-section," Claire said, her voice shaking with five years of buried rage. "She came into my room with two lawyers. She showed me that paper with your signature already on it."
"She showed you... what?"
"She told me you had signed it the night before," Claire said, tears welling in her green eyes. "She said you knew I was having four babies, that you called them 'monstrosities that would destroy your social standing,' and that you signed away all parental rights. She said if I didn't take the thirty thousand dollars and leave the state, her lawyers would use that document to declare me unfit and take the babies away to put them in separate foster homes!"
Adrian stood up so fast the wooden kitchen chair clattered against the floor.
"I never signed this," Adrian said, his voice trembling with a terrifying, apocalyptic rage. "I never saw this paper in my life! I didn't even know you were in Westchester! She told me you took thirty thousand dollars and went to California with another man!"
Claire dropped her tea cup. It shattered against the hardwood floor, spilling dark liquid across the pristine floor.
May you like
She stared at him, her lips trembling. "What did you say?"
"My mother forged my signature," Adrian roared softly, holding up the document, his body shaking violently. "She forged my signature to steal my children from me!"
