Chapter 2: The Lies That Built the Voss Empire
Liam spent the first hour after Eleanor’s revelation kneeling on the nursery floor, the manila folder spread out in front of him, his mind racing through every conversation he’d had with his mother over the last six months, every offhand comment that had seemed harmless at the time, every question she’d asked about Maya’s mental health, every time she’d offered to “help” with the baby’s paperwork, to “take some of the stress off” Liam while he closed the Zurich deal. He’d handed her his power of attorney two months prior, to sign off on minor construction work at the Miami Beach Voss Hotel while he was out of the country. He’d never thought she’d use it to file for custody of his son.
He’d always known his mother was ruthless. He’d grown up watching her fire long-time employees for minor mistakes, turn family friends into enemies over business deals, manipulate his father into making decisions that benefited her, that grew the Voss fortune even if it destroyed other people’s lives. But he’d never thought she’d turn that ruthlessness on him. On his wife. On his newborn son. He’d always believed that family was the only line Eleanor would never cross, that no matter how much she cared about the business, she’d never hurt her only child. He was wrong.
Maya woke up an hour later, her voice soft and groggy as she called Liam’s name from the master bedroom. Liam stuffed the manila folder into his backpack, wiped the tears from his face, and walked down the hall, forcing a smile onto his face that he didn’t feel. Maya was propped up on pillows, her face still pale from the C-section, her eyes lighting up when she saw him. She held out her arms, and Liam walked over, wrapping her in a hug, his heart breaking when she whispered that she’d missed him, that Elijah was perfect, that she couldn’t wait for him to hold their son.
“Where is he, baby?” Liam said, his voice steady, even as his chest ached. “I want to hold him first thing. I drove straight here from the airport.”
Maya’s smile faded. She frowned, looking around the room, like she expected Elijah to be in the bassinet by the bed, where Eleanor had said she’d put him to sleep. “Eleanor took him to the guest room,” she said, wiping a strand of hair from her face. “I was so tired, I passed out after she fed him. She said she’d let me sleep, that she’d take care of him for the night. I thought she was just being nice. She’s been so helpful since we got home from the hospital.”
Liam sat down on the bed, taking Maya’s hand, and told her everything. He told her about the empty nursery, the poured-out milk, the custody papers, the court order, everything Eleanor had said. Maya’s face crumpled. She started crying, hard, her body shaking as she leaned into Liam, saying that Eleanor had been with her at the hospital, that she’d been the only one there while Liam was in Zurich, that she’d trusted her, that she’d never thought Eleanor would do something like this.
“She told me Liam was stuck in Zurich, that he couldn’t get a flight home for another three days,” Maya said, between sobs. “She said she’d stay with me, that she’d take care of everything. She brought me soup, she helped me shower, she said she was so happy to be a grandmother. I believed her. I never thought...” She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, her tears soaking Liam’s shirt.
Liam held her tight, his mind racing. He knew he couldn’t call the police. Eleanor had covered her tracks. The court order was legal, signed by a judge, the psychiatrist’s letter was on official letterhead, everything looked legitimate on paper. If he called the cops, they’d tell him it was a family matter, that he had to settle it in court. And by the time he got a court date, Eleanor would have moved Elijah to a private estate in Switzerland, or the Cayman Islands, somewhere Liam would never find him. He had to play this smart. He had to get Eleanor to slip up, to admit what she’d done, to give him proof that the custody order was fraudulent, that the psychiatrist’s letter was a lie.
He pulled out his phone, opened the voice memo app, and hit record. He told Maya to stay calm, to act like everything was normal, that he was going to go downstairs and talk to Eleanor, that he was going to get her to admit what she’d done. He kissed Maya’s forehead, told her he loved her, that they’d get Elijah back, no matter what it took. Then he walked downstairs, to the kitchen, where Eleanor was sitting at the marble island, sipping a cup of black coffee, scrolling through her phone, like she hadn’t just destroyed her son’s family.
Liam pulled out a chair, sat down across from her, and folded his arms across his chest. “I want to see him,” he said, his voice steady. “I want to see Elijah. Right now.”
Eleanor looked up from her phone, her eyebrow raised. “You’re not in any state to see him,” she said, setting her phone down. “You’re upset. You’re not thinking clearly. Elijah is fine. He’s with a nurse I hired, a private nurse who’s taken care of Voss family babies for 30 years. He’s safe. He’s healthy. That’s all that matters.”
“Who is the psychiatrist?” Liam said, leaning forward, his voice low. “The one who wrote that letter saying Maya is unfit. I want to talk to him. I want to know when he evaluated her. She’s been in the hospital for two days. She hasn’t seen any psychiatrist since Elijah was born.”
Eleanor laughed, a cold, sharp sound that made Liam’s skin crawl. “You think I’d tell you that? You think I’m stupid? You’d run to him, you’d bribe him, you’d get him to recant. No. That letter is legitimate. Maya has a history of depression. She tried to kill herself when she was 22. She told you that, didn’t she? She told you it was a one-time thing, that she was fine. But she’s not fine. Anyone who tries to kill themselves is never fine. She could hurt Elijah. I couldn’t let that happen.”
Liam’s blood ran cold. Maya had told him about that, when they were engaged. She’d been 22, her parents had died in a car crash, she’d been alone, she’d overdosed on pills, it had been a split-second decision, she’d regretted it immediately, she’d spent two years in therapy, she’d been sober and healthy ever since. She’d never told anyone else. She’d never told her best friend, never told anyone but Liam. The only way Eleanor could have known that was if she’d hacked Maya’s medical records. If she’d paid someone to steal 10-year-old medical information to use against her.
“You hacked her records,” Liam said, his voice shaking. “You paid someone to get her private medical information from 10 years ago, and you used it to write a fake letter saying she’s unfit. That’s illegal. That’s a felony.”
“Prove it,” Eleanor said, leaning back in her chair, smiling. “You can’t. The letter is from a licensed psychiatrist. The court order is legal. Elijah is mine. You and Maya can fight it in court, but by the time you get a hearing, you’ll have spent millions of dollars, and Elijah will be settled into his new home with me and your father. You’ll never take him away from us. This is what’s best for the Voss family. This is what your grandfather would have wanted.”
Liam thought of his grandfather, Arthur Voss, who’d founded the Voss Hotels Group in 1972, with a single motel outside of Orlando. Arthur had been a hard man, a man who’d built his empire from nothing, but he’d always believed that family came first. He’d left the company to Liam’s father, but he’d written in his will that the family’s assets could never be used to hurt another family member. If Arthur was alive, he’d be horrified by what Eleanor had done. He’d take Elijah away from her, he’d strip her of everything she had, he’d never let her get away with stealing a newborn from his parents.
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Liam stood up, pushing his chair back from the island. “You’re wrong,” he said, his voice loud enough to echo through the empty kitchen. “I’m going to get my son back. I’m going to prove that everything you did is illegal. I’m going to take you down, and you’ll never see Elijah again. You made a mistake when you took him. You thought I’d just roll over, like I always have. But you’re wrong. This is my son. I’m not going to lose him.”
He turned and walked back up the stairs, slamming the nursery door behind him, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. The voice memo was 47 minutes long. It had captured every word Eleanor had said: that she’d hidden Elijah with a private nurse, that she’d never tell Liam who the psychiatrist was, that she’d planned to move Elijah to a new home before Liam could file an appeal. It was enough. It was enough to take to a judge, to a lawyer, to prove that Eleanor had committed fraud, that the custody order was obtained under false pretenses. But Liam knew Eleanor wasn’t going to wait around for him to file paperwork. She’d move Elijah as soon as she realized Liam was serious. He had 48 hours, at most, to find his son. Or he’d never see him again.
