Chapter 14 - The Supervised Visit
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Owen was three months old when Marcus was finally granted his first court-ordered, professionally supervised visitation.
I did not attend. Dana advised me to stay away, allowing the court-appointed social worker to manage the interaction entirely.
The visit took place in a sterile, neutral family-services room downtown, equipped with cameras and a panic button.
Marcus arrived wearing a tailored, casual suit, carrying three massive, brightly wrapped boxes. They looked like expensive, absurdly large toys entirely inappropriate for an infant.
The social worker, a stern woman named Mrs. Higgins, met him at the door.
"Mr. Hale, you will need to leave the gifts in the hallway," Mrs. Higgins instructed firmly.
Marcus frowned, his charm immediately shifting into irritation. "They are for my son. They are gifts."
"These visits are intended to build emotional attachment, not to demonstrate purchasing power," Mrs. Higgins explained, blocking his path. "You may bring them in if the mother approves them later. For now, leave them."
Marcus clenched his jaw but complied, setting the boxes down forcefully.
He walked into the room. Owen was sitting in a padded infant seat, chewing happily on a small, soft cloth book.
Marcus sat in the chair opposite him, looking awkwardly at the child. He didn't reach out. He didn't smile. He seemed entirely unsure of what to do with a human being he couldn't manipulate or impress.
Owen dropped the cloth book and let out a sharp, demanding cry.
Marcus looked at the baby, then immediately looked at Mrs. Higgins, irritation flashing in his eyes.
"What does he want?" Marcus asked defensively.
"He likely wants to be comforted," Mrs. Higgins replied, watching him closely and taking notes on a clipboard. "You may pick him up."
Marcus awkwardly lifted Owen under the arms, holding him stiffly away from his chest. Owen continued to cry, uncomfortable with the rigid hold.
"You may speak to him, Mr. Hale," Mrs. Higgins prompted.
Marcus looked at the crying infant, searching for words.
"It's going to be okay," Marcus told the baby, his tone shifting into the familiar, persuasive cadence he used in boardrooms. "I'm fighting the injunctions. The lawyers say we have a strong case for appeal regarding the corporate asset freeze. We just have to be patient."
Mrs. Higgins stopped writing and looked at him in sheer disbelief. He was attempting to explain complex financial litigation to a three-month-old infant.
"Mr. Hale," she interrupted sharply. "Tell your son you are here. Comfort him."
Marcus frowned, clearly annoyed by the correction. He looked back at the crying child.
"I am here," Marcus said.
May you like
The words sounded hollow, unfamiliar, and completely devoid of warmth. He placed Owen back in the seat after only five minutes.
The report Mrs. Higgins filed later that day was devastating. It documented a profound lack of paternal instinct, a persistent need for control, and a complete inability to prioritize the child's emotional needs over his own ego.
