Chapter 3 - THE AGREEMENT WITH THE TWO-MILLION-DOLLAR NUMBER
The agreement looked impressive.
Twelve pages.
Heavy paper.
Notarized.
Maeve’s signature.
Octavia’s signature.
No signature from me.
That should have been obvious.
Maeve had noticed.
Octavia explained:
“The family reserve is mine to administer. Luciano’s separate acknowledgment is confidential.”
There was supposedly another document.
My acknowledgment.
Maeve never received the original.
Only a copy of one page.
The agreement promised:
Monthly housing support.
Medical insurance contribution.
Childcare support.
Annual education allocation.
Emergency medical reserve.
College funding later.
Maximum aggregate obligation:
$2,000,000.
It was not an immediate cash payment.
It was a ceiling.
That mattered.
The figure visible at the club looked like a buyout.
The actual wording was structured support plus confidentiality.
Then a paragraph:
Ms. Wynn acknowledges that Luciano Ferretti has independently resolved any personal claim or expectation relating to parentage and will not seek contact absent judicial determination initiated by Ms. Wynn.
That sentence was bizarre.
My family lawyer, Caroline West, read it and said:
“This does not make legal sense as a paternity resolution.”
Exactly.
Biological parentage does not disappear because a grandmother writes a paragraph.
Then:
“Could it stop Maeve from filing?”
“No.”
“Could confidentiality be enforceable?”
“Not to conceal crimes or restrict lawful parentage proceedings in the way Octavia appears to have used it.”
Then the notary.
Real notary.
She had witnessed Maeve and Octavia sign.
She had not seen me.
She had been told there was a separate document.
No criminal conduct apparent from her role.
Then payment history.
Maeve had statements.
Year One:
$3,400 monthly.
Year Two:
$2,800.
Year Three:
$2,100.
Year Four:
$1,400.
Year Five:
irregular.
Final three months:
zero.
The agreement promised substantially more.
Why had Maeve not sued?
She tried.
Two years earlier she met a legal-aid attorney.
The attorney wrote Octavia.
Within a week, Maeve received a catch-up payment and a letter:
Any public challenge will trigger review of confidentiality breaches and suspension of discretionary education funding.
The legal-aid attorney told Maeve the agreement looked contestable and encouraged formal paternity action.
Maeve did not proceed.
Why?
Fear.
Not of me physically.
Of the Ferretti name.
She had two children.
One income.
A family office sending legal letters.
She made a decision I wished she had not made.
But it was understandable.
Then I asked Caroline:
“How much should have been paid by now?”
“Accounting first.”
“How much did Maeve actually receive?”
“We know her side. We need the funding account.”
I looked toward the closed conference room where Octavia’s lawyers were meeting.
“Get it.”
Caroline gave me a look.
“Through lawful process.”
“Yes.”
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Apparently everyone had started anticipating my worst instinct.
Useful.
