Chapter 4 - My Grandfather Had Built the Network That Manipulated My Marriage—And He Wanted My Four Sons for a Reason No One Had Told MeI thought my grandfather was dead.
He had died when I was eighteen.
At least, according to my family.
Dr. Hayes told me otherwise.
“He is alive.”
I stared.
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“You do.”
“He contacts people.”
“How?”
“Through intermediaries.”
I sat down.
“How long?”
“Years.”
I wanted to believe it was impossible.
It wasn't.
My grandfather had built our family's original network.
Not just criminal businesses.
Political influence.
Private security.
Judicial connections.
Financial systems.
He believed every heir needed to be controlled.
Children.
Marriage.
Money.
Everything.
My four sons were valuable because they weren't supposed to exist.
They were unplanned.
Hidden.
And biologically connected to another family line.
Mara's mother had been part of an old bloodline that controlled certain international assets.
The quadruplets were the bridge.
My grandfather wanted them for inheritance rights.
I stared.
“My sons are assets.”
“Yes.”
“That's what they think.”
Dr. Hayes nodded.
I left.
I returned to the apartment.
Mara was sitting at the table.
The boys were drawing.
I sat beside her.
“My grandfather is alive.”
She closed her eyes.
“I know.”
“You knew?”
“He came to see me.”
“When?”
“After the boys were born.”
“What did he want?”
“The children.”
“Why?”
“Because he believed one of them would inherit something.”
I looked at the boys.
All four.
“Which one?”
She shook her head.
“He didn't know.”
I looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
“He had no idea whether the inheritance would pass through Milo, Mason, Max, or Micah.”
I frowned.
“They're all mine.”
“Yes.”
She opened a notebook.
“Your grandfather believed the firstborn would carry the key.”
Milo.
Six years old.
He had been born four minutes before the others.
“Key to what?”
“The Moretti Trust.”
That name meant nothing.
Mara explained.
An offshore trust created decades earlier.
It controlled shipping routes.
Real estate.
Bank accounts.
Even political influence.
My grandfather wanted it.
He believed one of the boys had genetic access to something.
I stared.
This was absurd.
Until I remembered the files.
My mother's payments.
The clinic.
The hidden medical transfers.
Everything began to make sense.
Then Milo came running in.
“Dad.”
“Yes?”
“Grandma called.”
I froze.
“What did she say?”
“She wants to see us.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
Mara looked at me.
She shook her head.
“No.”
I stood.
“She can't.”
A message arrived.
Bring the boys. Come alone.
I looked at Mara.
“We're not going.”
Then the lights in the apartment went out.
May you like
Someone had cut the power.
And the security alarm began screaming.
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