Keifer's POV
Curtis escalated at dawn, storming Section E HQ like a bad movie villain — paparazzi swarm in tow, cameras blinding. He banged on the reinforced door, bellowing, "I'm her father! Blood rights! Let me see Jay-Jay!" Felix wedged his bulk in the frame, arms crossed. Calix cracked knuckles behind him, Edrix already punching 999 on his phone. Denzel live-streamed discreetly from a window, narrating the farce.
Curtis waved crumpled papers triumphantly: "Custody docs from Philippines courts! She's under my guardianship — minor status till 25!" Pure fabrication — Jay-Jay was 22, independent, UK resident. But tabloids twisted it overnight: "Ex-con dad battles fiancé for kidnapped daughter. Shocking custody war!" Headlines everywhere, even BBC mentions.
Angelo summoned emergency war room — our underground ops center, screens flickering with legal feeds. "Firm's en route. No statements. We verify, then eviscerate." Jay-Jay pored over the fakes, face ashen, fingers tracing forged seals. "He did this before — fake school records, welfare claims. Always for money." Her voice trembled, but eyes burned steel.
Paparazzi clogged our flat's street by noon, drones buzzing windows. Trapped inside, we rationed snacks, plotted via encrypted chat. Rakki hacked surface-level traces: "Curtis's IP bounces Manila to London hotels." Percy arrived with burner phones, C-in on video ranting, "I fly in, we bury him!"
I pulled Jay-Jay onto my lap amid the mess. "Your family's here — blood or chosen. Curtis is smoke." She nodded, but doubt flickered. Angelo's legal eagle confirmed: "Frivolous. Injunction tomorrow."
Yet strain showed — Felix punched walls, Calix chain-smoked. Drama clawed deeper