At 9:18 p. M., she left a voicemail. Ara, this has gone too far. We need to talk before you embarrass yourself in court.
Lilia is a Callaway. Don't make us fight you harder than we have to. I saved the message, then texted Beatrice. We can meet tomorrow at noon, public place only.
Her reply was instant. Fine. Dress appropriately. I stared at the text, then laughed.
Not a happy sound, but one of weary amazement. They all still thought humiliation was leverage. They had no idea I'd already started using it as evidence. Beatrice Callaway chose the restaurant.
Of course, it was a private room at Daniel where the chairs were upholstered in pale blue velvet and the menus had no prices. Julian used to take clients there when he wanted to show them he was successful before he proved he was competent. I arrived at noon exactly, wearing black trousers, a gray sweater, and no jewelry except for my mother's thin gold ring on a chain under my collar. Lilia was with my father's housekeeper, Elizabeth, for 2 hours.
It was the first time I'd left her with someone from my family, and I'd cried for 3 minutes in the car before walking into the restaurant. Not because I didn't trust Elizabeth, but because freedom, when you're used to being trapped, feels like danger at first. Beatrice was seated at the center of the table as if she had convened a board meeting. She wore pearls, a cream silk blouse, and the expression of a woman who believes good manners are something other people owe her personally.
"Ara," she said. "You're late. " I looked at my phone. "It's noon."
Exactly. Precisely. I sat down opposite her. A waiter entered with sparkling water.
Beatrice waited until he left to speak. "I won't waste your time. That would be a first. " Her eyes narrowed.
"That attitude is the entire problem. " I placed my phone face down on the table. The recording was running. Beatrice noticed.
Are you recording me? Yes. At least I'm honest about it. I'm learning from Julian.
Color rose under her makeup, but she controlled herself. Fine. Record. Maybe it will help you hear yourself later.
I said nothing. Beatrice opened a leather folder. Our lawyer has reviewed the situation. Your family's case doesn't exist.
I said there is Julian's custody filing. Lilia is a Callaway. She is my granddaughter and she is Julian's daughter. And frankly, Ara, you've never understood what that means.
And what does that mean? It means she belongs to our legacy. There it was. Not love legacy.
I glanced around the room. The crystal glasses, the white tablecloth, the closed door. Is that why Julian suddenly wants primary custody? I asked.
Because of a legacy? Beatrice's lips thinned. Julian has always wanted what's best for his child. He missed her birth.
He was working. He was with Sloan. Beatrice flinched, but only slightly. I'm not here to discuss that woman.
That woman was in court yesterday. I was against that. That was interesting. Beatrice looked annoyed, as if she was upset he'd given me an opening.
Because appearances matter. Julian is emotional right now. He's under attack. I almost admired how far she could bend reality without hearing it snap.
Beatrice. He filed a lawsuit to take a three-month-old from her mother after abandoning us during the pregnancy and postpartum period. He filed because you are unstable. Based on what?
A video texts. My behavior during the times your son left me alone with a newborn. Her face hardened. Motherhood is difficult.
That doesn't make Julian a villain. No, but cheating on his pregnant wife does. She drew a sharp breath. You're being vulgar.
I'm being accurate. Beatrice picked up her water glass, then set it down without drinking. Listen to me carefully, she said. You're angry right now.
I understand that. But anger doesn't pay for lawyers. Anger doesn't provide a roof over your head. Anger will not give Lilia the future the Callaway name can.
The Callaway name? Yes. The same name Julian used when he paid for Sloan's apartment lease with family funds. Beatrice's face faltered.
Good. She didn't know the full amount. Don't make accusations you can't prove, she said. I can prove them.
A pause. Beatrice glanced at the closed door as if hoping a waiter would interrupt. None came. What do you want?
She asked. Primary residence with me. Fair child support. Full financial disclosure.
No contact with Sloan during the proceedings. All communication through lawyers. Beatrice gave a short laugh. You've become ambitious.
I've woken up. You think because some lawyer is whispering in your ear, you can dictate terms to this family? This family is not a court of law. No, I said, but the court will see where the reason is.
Meaning Julian's money, meaning his stability. I leaned back. You keep using that word because you lack it. Really?
Beatrice smiled and it was a colder smile than Sloan's. Ara, let's not pretend. Your father washed his hands of you years ago. You left your job.