“You are,” she said. “And you are leaving the premises.”

The silence returned, heavier this time.

I could smell the wet wool of the agents’ coats and the faint scent of Callum’s expensive cologne.

It was the scent of a man who still believed his name could protect him.

“Avery,” Callum said, his voice dropping to a plea. “Think about our son. Think about what this does to his future.”

I looked down at my hands.

“I am thinking about him,” I said. “That is why I am doing this.”

The emergency custody hearing was scheduled for nine o’clock the following morning.

Judge Mallory had already reviewed the preliminary medical reports from Dr. Whitaker’s office.

The falsified records, showing I was unfit, had been traced back to Callum’s personal computer.

“You won’t get a dime,” Callum spat, his face suddenly reddening. “The prenuptial agreement is ironclad.”

“The prenuptial agreement is based on the assumption that your assets were legally acquired,” I said.

He made a sound, a short, sharp laugh that died in his throat.

“I will fight you in every court in this state,” he said.