Chapter 2 - The Paris Meltdown
The transatlantic airwaves practically hummed with white-hot rage over the next twenty-four hours.
After hanging up on Dad, I sat on the porch of Daniel’s quiet brick home in Baton Rouge, watching the kids play tag on the lawn. For the first time in years, Mason wasn't wearing that heavy, protective scowl he always kept around Celeste. Leah was laughing, and the twins were busily trying to catch fireflies in empty mason jars.
Inside the house, my phone buzzed every three minutes.
It was a non-stop barrage of text messages, voicemails, and frantic FaceTime calls from across the Atlantic. Celeste had clearly abandoned her romantic walking tour of Montmartre with her boyfriend Trent.
I picked up the fifth call on speaker.
"Naomi Spectre, you have ruined my life!" Celeste’s voice shrieked through the tiny speaker, distantly echoing against the stone walls of a European airport terminal. "We are turning around! We are booking the first flight back from Charles de Gaulle! Do you have any idea how much money this trip cost Trent?"
"About four thousand dollars, based on the receipts you left in the emergency folder," I replied smoothly, sipping cold iced tea from a mason jar. "Though I’m surprised Trent paid for it, considering he hasn't paid child support for his own ex-wife in seven months."
The line went dead quiet for three seconds.
"Where did you get that information?" Celeste hissed.
"Carmen ran a quick public records search," I said. "It turns out when you mess with family law, lawyers get curious. Trent's assets are currently being monitored by a court in Texas. But let's talk about Daniel."
"There is nothing to talk about! He is an unfit father!"
"Celeste, I’m standing in his living room," I said, looking through the screen door. "He has a five-bedroom house. He has a room set up for each of the kids. The closets are full of clothes in their exact sizes. There are framed photos of them on every wall—photos he had to print from social media because you blocked him from sending them school pictures."
"He manipulated you!" she screamed. "He's a master liar!"
"He showed me the court order from Judge Miller," I interrupted, dropping my voice into an icy calm. "The one dated June 14th of last year. The one where you were found in civil contempt of court for refusing to surrender the children for summer visitation. The judge warned you that one more violation would result in a transfer of primary custody."
Silence met my words. Not even the background noise of the Paris terminal seemed to filter through.
"You left the country without telling the court," I pressed on. "You left five minors with a sister who only agreed to forty-eight hours of babysitting, and you intentionally hid their father's legal custody status from everyone. Carmen is filing an emergency ex-parte motion in district court as we speak."
"You wouldn't dare," Celeste whispered, her voice finally cracking with genuine panic. "You're my sister."
"And those are five human beings," I snapped. "Not bargaining chips you get to hide in a drawer whenever you want a vacation in Europe."
Before she could answer, I heard Trent’s voice background-muttering about non-refundable hotel deposits.
"Enjoy Paris, Celeste," I said. "Or don't. But don't call me again unless it's through Daniel's attorney."
I tapped the screen and ended the call.
As I put the phone down, Daniel walked out onto the porch holding two mugs of coffee. He looked exhausted, the lines around his eyes deep with years of quiet stress, but there was a light in his eyes I hadn't seen since he and Celeste were twenty-five.
"She's threatening a police report for kidnapping," I told him, taking a mug.
Daniel smiled sadly, looking out at Mason throwing a football to Eli. "Let her call them. The Baton Rouge Sheriff's Department has a copy of our custody agreement on file. They've known for eighteen months that I've been trying to enforce my visitation rights."
"Why didn't you push harder?" I asked gently. "Why didn't you come to the house?"
Daniel took a slow sip of coffee. "Because every time I showed up with a deputy, Celeste would lock the kids in the back room and scream that I was terrorizing them. Mason was eight at the time. He was terrified. I realized that if I forced a police confrontation on her front porch, I would break my kids' hearts forever. So I took it to court. But court takes time... and your father kept blocking my letters."
May you like
My hand tightened around my mug. "Dad is coming over here tonight, isn't he?"
Daniel looked at me, his expression grave. "He called me twenty minutes ago. He said he's on the highway from Lafayette."
