Chapter 2 Buying the Factory, Daddy's Trap

# Chapter 2: Buying the Factory, Daddy's Trap

I thought the ice cream incident would blow over. I really did. I expected Justin to demand answers, maybe threaten legal action, even try to establish some kind of visitation schedule.

What I didn't expect was for him to buy the entire ice cream factory.

"Mom! Mom! Look what came!" Leo's excited voice rang through our small apartment above the bakery, exactly one week after what I now referred to as "The Invasion."

I looked up from my ledger, where I'd been trying to make sense of this month's finances. Running a small-town bakery as a single mother of triplets didn't exactly leave much room for profit margins.

"What is it now?" I asked, setting down my calculator.

Leo burst into the kitchen waving an envelope with the Sarratt Group logo embossed in silver. My stomach dropped.

"It's from Daddy!" Mia announced, skipping in behind her brother.

Luna followed quietly, her eyes—so much like Justin's—watching me carefully. Of my three children, Luna had always been the most perceptive, the one who seemed to understand adult emotions before she could even form complete sentences.

"Where did you get that?" I asked, reaching for the envelope.

"The delivery man brought it," Leo explained. "Along with those."

He pointed toward the front room, and for the first time, I noticed the stack of elegant white boxes tied with blue ribbon—at least twenty of them—arranged in a pyramid on our coffee table.

"What on earth..." I muttered, getting up to investigate.

Each box bore the logo of "Celestial Creamery," the ultra-exclusive ice cream brand that had started this whole mess. The same brand that sold gold-flake ice cream for $500 a pint.

"There's a note," Luna said softly, handing me a cream-colored card.

I opened it with trembling fingers.

*"For my little taste testers. New flavors daily. —Dad"*

"New flavors daily?" I read aloud, confused.

As if on cue, my phone pinged with a news alert. I rarely subscribed to financial news, but after Justin's appearance, I'd set up alerts for anything Sarratt-related. The headline made my knees weak:

*"TECH TITAN JUSTIN SARRATT ACQUIRES LUXURY ICE CREAM BRAND IN SURPRISE MOVE"*

"He bought the ice cream company," I whispered.

"Cool!" Leo exclaimed. "Does that mean we get free ice cream forever?"

"Can we try them now?" Mia was already reaching for one of the boxes.

I was about to tell them no, that we were sending everything back, when Luna spoke up.

"The note says we're taste testers," she pointed out reasonably. "That's a job. We should do our job, right?"

I looked at my daughter's earnest expression and felt my resolve crumbling. This was Justin's strategy—he knew I couldn't deny the children something that made them so happy, especially when our budget rarely allowed for luxuries.

"Fine," I sighed. "One scoop each. After dinner."

Their cheers would have warmed my heart any other day. Today, they just reminded me that Justin Sarratt had found the perfect way to insinuate himself into our lives—through their stomachs.

And it didn't stop with that first delivery.

The next morning, a private jet landed at our small local airport—an event so unusual that it made the front page of the town newspaper. The jet contained exactly three things: a refrigerated case of fresh ice cream prototypes, a note addressed to "My three little hackers," and a pilot who had instructions to wait for their feedback before returning to headquarters.

"They want us to rate the flavors on a scale of one to ten," Leo announced, reading the enclosed form with professional seriousness.

"And write detailed tasting notes," Mia added, already uncapping a pen.

"There's also a secure tablet for video feedback," Luna discovered, pulling out a sleek device that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

I watched, helpless, as my children transformed into miniature food critics, solemnly discussing the "mouthfeel" and "flavor profile" of each sample. The tablet came to life, connecting automatically to a secure channel.

"Hello, taste team," Justin's voice filled our kitchen as his face appeared on screen. "How's the new batch?"

"Daddy!" all three exclaimed in unison.

I stepped back, out of the camera's view, my heart hammering. This was his plan—to bypass me completely and establish a relationship with them that I couldn't control.

"The chocolate one needs more chocolate," Leo informed him seriously. "It's only an eight out of ten."

"Noted," Justin replied with equal seriousness. "And the strawberry swirl?"

"Too many strawberry chunks," Mia critiqued. "They get stuck in my teeth."

"We'll purée them more thoroughly next time."

Luna, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up. "Why did you buy a whole ice cream company just to send us flavors?"

Smart girl. Always cutting to the heart of the matter.

I saw Justin's expression soften on the screen. "Because I missed five years of birthdays and Christmases. I have a lot of catching up to do."

The simple honesty in his voice caught me off guard. This wasn't the calculating businessman I remembered. This was... something else.

"Mom says we can't accept expensive gifts from strangers," Luna continued, glancing in my direction.

Justin's eyes followed her gaze, finding me lurking at the edge of the kitchen. "Is that so? Well, I'm not a stranger, am I? I'm your father."

The word hung in the air between us. Father. It was the first time he'd claimed the title so directly.

"Joan," he acknowledged me with a nod. "We need to talk."

"Not now," I mouthed, gesturing to the children.

"Later, then," he agreed aloud. "Kids, enjoy the ice cream. I'll see you tomorrow."

The screen went dark before I could object to his presumption that he'd be seeing them again so soon.

"Is Daddy coming to visit?" Mia asked excitedly.

"No," I said firmly. "He's very busy running his company."

"The company that makes our ice cream now," Leo pointed out with impeccable logic.

I had no good answer for that.

That night, after tucking the children into bed, I decided to do some reconnaissance of my own. It had been five years since I'd allowed myself to look up anything about Justin Sarratt. Five years of pretending he didn't exist, that he wasn't one of the most recognizable faces in the tech world.

I opened my laptop and typed his name into the search bar.

The results were overwhelming. Justin had been busy in the years since I'd left. Sarratt Group had expanded beyond tech into sustainable energy, medical research, and apparently now, gourmet ice cream. His net worth had tripled. He'd been on the cover of Time, Forbes, and Fortune, sometimes in the same month.

But it was the personal details that caught my attention. No serious relationships. No other children. Just work, innovation, and his reputation as a brilliant but ruthless businessman.

Until now.

I clicked on a news article dated that very afternoon: "Tech Billionaire Justin Sarratt Makes Surprise Appearance at Small-Town School."

My heart stopped. With shaking hands, I opened the article to find a photo of Justin—my Justin, the children's father—sitting cross-legged on the floor of what was unmistakably my children's kindergarten classroom, reading a story to a circle of awestruck five-year-olds.

The caption read: "Sarratt made an unscheduled visit to Maplewood Elementary, donating a state-of-the-art computer lab and reading to Mrs. Henderson's kindergarten class."

Mrs. Henderson. My children's teacher.

He'd found their school. He'd been there, today, without my knowledge or permission.

I closed the laptop and pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to think clearly through the panic rising in my chest. This was moving too fast. Justin was moving too fast.

A soft knock at my bedroom door startled me.

"Mom?" Luna's small voice called out. "Are you awake?"

"Yes, sweetie," I answered, quickly composing myself. "What's wrong?"

She padded into my room in her rocket ship pajamas, clutching her favorite stuffed rabbit. "I had a dream about Daddy."

I patted the bed beside me, and she climbed up, snuggling against my side. "What kind of dream?"

"He was reading us a story," she said softly. "Like today at school."

So they had seen him. "Did you talk to him at school today?"

She nodded solemnly. "He said it was a secret surprise. That's why I didn't tell you."

My heart clenched. "Luna, honey, you should never keep secrets from me, especially about adults who want to talk to you."

"But it's Daddy," she protested, confused. "And he brought computers for the whole school. Mrs. Henderson said he's a hero."

Of course he did. Of course she did.

"Can I show you something?" Luna asked suddenly, sliding off the bed.

"What is it?"

"It's in our room. Come see."

Curious, I followed her down the hall to the bedroom the triplets shared. Leo and Mia were sound asleep, but Luna led me straight to the closet they all shared. She pushed aside the hanging clothes to reveal the back wall, which had been transformed into what could only be described as an investigation board.

Printouts of news articles, financial reports, and photographs—all featuring Justin—covered every inch of the wall. Red string connected certain items, and childish handwriting annotated the edges of many clippings.

"What is this?" I whispered, stunned.

"It's our clue wall to find Daddy," Luna explained matter-of-factly. "We've been working on it for months."

I stared at the elaborate display, emotions warring within me. On one hand, I was impressed by their initiative and research skills. On the other hand, I was terrified by what it represented.

"We made a plan," Luna continued proudly. "First, find out everything about him. Then, hack his company to get his attention. Then, make him want to be our daddy."

"And the ice cream?"

"That was step two point five," she explained. "Leo said everyone loves ice cream, so if we ordered lots of it, you'd have to let him visit."

Clever. Too clever by half.

"Luna," I said carefully, crouching down to her level. "Why didn't you just ask me about your father?"

Her small shoulders shrugged. "You get sad when we ask. And you said he was too busy for us."

The simple truth of her words hit me like a physical blow. Had I really made them feel that they couldn't ask about their own father? That they had to resort to elaborate schemes just to learn about half of their identity?

"I'm sorry," I whispered, pulling her into a hug. "I should have told you more about him."

"It's okay," she said, patting my back comfortingly. "We found him anyway."

As I tucked Luna back into bed, a movement outside the window caught my eye. A sleek black car was parked across the street, its presence too purposeful to be coincidental.

Justin was having us watched.

The realization should have made me angry. Instead, it just confirmed what I already knew: this was only the beginning of his campaign to become part of our lives.

Later that night, long after the children were asleep, I heard the bell to the shop door downstairs. We were closed, and the door should have been locked, but I knew who it was before I even went downstairs.

Justin stood in the darkened shop, the security system mysteriously deactivated. He looked exactly as he had in the news photos—powerful, confident, devastating in a perfectly tailored suit despite the late hour.

Before I could speak, he moved toward me with that predatory grace I remembered so well, backing me against the counter.

"Teaching our children to hack their own father," he murmured, his voice a dangerous caress as his arms came to rest on either side of me, caging me in. "Is that your idea of revenge, Joan Powers? Or is it just your twisted way of flirting?"