Thirteen #3
We head to my office, where Jim Adelson is already waiting, with two guys flanking him. Gage Easton and Bash Pontius. Within minutes, Amelia has introduced herself to the three men and then crawls into Jim’s lap, batting her lashes and cooing like she owns the room.
“She’s a little young for you, isn’t she?” I ask, only half-joking.
Jim chuckles. “I’ve got twin boys. Just turned eighteen. I remember when they were this age. We were in survival mode back then. I miss this stage.”
Trixie settles on the floor and coaxes Amelia with a bag of toys while the rest of us settle in our seats.
“We’ve done some digging into Willow Jackson,” Jim begins. “She’s blackmailed at least three wealthy men. This is the first time she’s brought a baby into it.”
“She wants money to walk away,” I say flatly. “I’m fine with that.”
Bash flips open a notebook and taps his tablet. “She was active on social media last night. We pulled several posts. In this one”—he turns the screen toward me—“you can clearly see a line of coke on the mirror behind her.”
I grind my teeth. “Charming.”
“And her room at the Fairmont is already trashed,” Bash adds. “Four nights in, and her tab is over twenty grand.”
I rub my face. “That’s pocket change. But Jesus…who lives like that?”
“She does,” Gage chimes in. “She grew up outside Milwaukee. No father listed. GED. Tried modeling in New York. Didn’t make it. Followed a guy named Derek Trainer to San Francisco. Dated him for a month. Walked away with a two-hundred-thousand-dollar payout.”
“Then came Flip Watson. Married.” Bash whistles. “That one cost him half a million.”
“And now me,” I mutter. “Fantastic.”
“She’s sitting on about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in credit card debt,” Gage continues. “Mostly luxury goods. Not resalable. Just status items. She’s bleeding money and aiming higher.”
Jim shifts forward. “And now that she’s publicly tied you to Amelia, your daughter’s a liability. There are people who’ll see her as leverage.” The word makes me sick. Liability. She’s a toddler, not a headline. Not a pawn. But in their world—and mine now—that’s how it works.
“I know.”
“We strongly recommend live-in protection,” Jim says. “I know you’ve resisted it in the past, but now, with Amelia, there’s no wiggle room.”
I nod. “I’ve accepted that. Trixie’s in the guest room next to Amelia. There’s a two-bedroom behind the kitchen that could house additional staff. But we’ll need a cook. A housekeeper. A full team.”
“We have someone in mind,” Jim says. “A couple. Todd and Jessica Brandt. Todd’s former Army Special Forces. Jessica trained at Le Cordon Bleu, has an Olympic gold in judo, and she’s fully certified in combat defense. She’d serve as cook, housekeeper, and backup security.”
“Sounds like a dream team.” I raise an eyebrow. “And Todd?”
“Primary protection. We’d supplement him when you’re in public. Do you want a full detail for office runs?”
I laugh under my breath. “No. Not yet.”
“We’d like you to meet them this week. We also suggest involving Trixie, so they can learn Amelia’s schedule, triggers, and preferences.”
I glance at her. “Would you be okay with that?”
“Of course,” she says without hesitation. “Whatever’s best for Amelia.”
We work through the logistics. Rotation schedules. Home security upgrades. Emergency drills.
And then the conversation circles back to the real issue—Willow.
What she’s done to me so far and what we believe she’ll do next.
“What do I do about her?” I ask. “Do I pay her off? A million dollars and a signed termination of parental rights?”
Jim leans back, considering. “That’s an option. But let’s be honest. She’ll just move on to the next mark. That’s her pattern.”
He hesitates, then continues, more carefully. “There’s another route. It would mean going public with parts of this, but…you could petition the courts to terminate her rights. On the grounds of abandonment, drug use, fraud, blackmail. We have enough evidence to build a strong case.”
The idea knocks the air from my lungs.
“She left Amelia with my doorman. She didn’t tell me she was pregnant. I’m sure she told me her name when we were together. But I didn’t remember her. I learned her name because she used it on the birth certificate.”
“We’ll find that out,” Jim says evenly. “And if you’re ready, we’ll coordinate with your lawyer and start building the case.”
Amelia is here on the floor in my office playing with Trixie—safe, loved, and blissfully unaware of the chaos her mother’s presence is stirring.
I can’t let Willow upend her life.
“I’m definitely interested,” I say, voice hardening. “Because there’s no way in hell I’m letting that woman near my daughter again. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Not ever. Amelia deserves better. And I’ll burn the world down before I let Willow hurt her again.”
Before Jim leaves, I stop him at the door. “Any updates on the letters?”
He nods once. “We’ve scanned them, got a team digging in. But it’s a twenty-five-year-old case, Matteo. Records are buried, people forget, things go missing. It’s slow work.” His gaze steadies on mine. “But don’t worry. We’re on it.”
I force a nod, though unease coils low in my gut. Slow or not, those letters aren’t just relics of the past. They’re a shadow stretching into the present, and until we know who wrote them, none of us are safe.