Chapter 3 - THE HUSBAND’S PETITION
Bastian’s petition was clever enough to irritate me.
It did not ask a judge to send Serena home by force. That would have failed immediately. Serena was twenty-nine and competent. It asked for narrow relief preventing me, my staff, or Montesi counsel from “interfering with private marital communications, prenatal care, or voluntary financial planning.”
On paper, that sounded almost reasonable.
Then came the affidavits.
Bianca claimed I had “physically attacked Bastian” after becoming enraged at the possibility of a male heir outside Serena’s pregnancy. True that I struck him. False motive.
Bastian claimed I had long pressured Serena to keep Montesi wealth “inside the direct bloodline.” Ridiculous, but hard to disprove with one sentence because families like mine really did talk too much about blood.
Then Faye’s affidavit.
That one stopped me.
She said Bastian told her Serena and he had been “privately separated for months” and that the formal marriage continued only because of Serena’s pregnancy and “family estate timing.”
Serena stared at the page.
“We were not separated.”
“I know.”
“He slept beside me last Thursday.”
Julian said, “Faye may have been lied to.”
Serena’s jaw tightened. “She still walked toward my chair.”
“Yes.”
Two truths.
Then Faye stated that Bianca repeatedly told her:
“Once the boy arrives, everything becomes clear.”
And:
“Serena’s father cannot ignore male succession forever.”
Faye admitted she did not understand the legal meaning.
That mattered.
Then the court hearing.
The judge asked Serena directly whether she wanted to remain at my home.
“Yes.”
Whether I was controlling her communications.
“No.”
Whether she wanted Bastian to make medical decisions for her.
“No.”
Whether she wanted the Marital Branch Acknowledgment treated as authority.
“No.”
Bastian’s lawyer tried to argue that Serena’s current answer might be influenced by me after the public conflict.
The judge looked unimpressed.
“So your position is that a competent adult woman cannot revoke a private preference because her father is sitting twenty feet away?”
They retreated.
Emergency relief denied.
But the court did something I supported.
Independent counsel for Serena regarding any medical power and marital property.
Good.
No one should have to trust her father merely because her husband lied.
Then the marriage.
Serena did not file for divorce immediately.
She surprised everyone.
“I want to know what he was doing first.”
I asked, “Does that mean you’re considering staying?”
“It means I’m considering not letting anger choose the order of my decisions.”
That sounded like her mother.
Helena would have been proud.
Then we searched the old legal archive.
Harold Venn’s memorandum was based on something called the Montesi Family Charter of 1989.
I remembered the document.
My father loved it.
A pompous, twenty-page statement about continuity, family name, and leadership expectations. It contained a clause:
Where practical, stewardship should favor the senior capable male descendant of a recognized family branch.
There.
Male.
But Julian said, “This was never a trust.”
“It governed family companies.”
“Informally.”
“Did it have legal effect?”
“Some agreements incorporated portions years ago.”
“How much remains?”
“We need the amendment history.”
That was the problem.
The charter had been revised, superseded, incorporated, removed, referenced, and half-forgotten across decades.
Families create myths when nobody tracks version control.
Then Harold Venn.
He was seventy-eight, living in Naples, Florida.
We reached him.
He sounded uncomfortable.
“Did you write Bastian’s succession memorandum?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell him a son with another woman could inherit Montesi assets?”
“No.”
“Then what did you tell him?”
“That the old charter historically preferred male family stewardship.”
“Historically?”
“Yes.”
“Current?”
“I told him I had not reviewed current trust documents.”
Julian leaned closer to speaker.
“Did you put that limitation in writing?”
“Yes.”
We requested copy.
Bastian’s bank file included only seven pages.
Venn’s original memorandum was eleven.
Four pages missing.
The omitted section contained limitations.
One sentence:
This memorandum is not a current title, trust, beneficiary, or voting-rights opinion and should not be relied upon as evidence of inheritance entitlement.
Another:
A son born to a non-Montesi mother and a spouse of a Montesi descendant would not become a Montesi descendant merely through the father’s marriage.
Obvious.
Removed.
Then who shortened it?
Venn said he emailed the full version to Bastian and Bianca.
Not the bank.
Not Faye.
Them.
My anger changed shape.
This was no longer merely people believing an old male-heir myth.
Someone had edited the warning away.
Then Harold said something else.
“Alaric, I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That Bastian had been asking about branch-vacancy provisions.”
“What provisions?”
He paused.
“Your father’s old continuity structure had one. It was eliminated later.”
“When?”
“I don’t remember exactly.”
“Why was he asking?”
“He wanted to know what happened if Serena’s branch became temporarily unable to act.”
Unable.
Late pregnancy.
Possible delivery complications.
Private acknowledgment.
Ninety-day representation.
I looked at Serena.
She had gone pale.
Then Julian found another attachment in Bastian’s court filing.
A prenatal risk assessment.
Serena’s pregnancy was medically normal, but the document highlighted potential complications requiring temporary incapacity.
May you like
Someone had built a legal strategy around the possibility that my daughter might be unconscious after giving birth.
And I still did not know what they thought that would let them control.
