The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss.

A woman stepped out into the dim fluorescent light of the garage.

It was Victoria Sterling.

Her gray wool coat was tailored to her frame.

She wore black leather gloves and held a small, structured handbag.

Behind her stood two men in dark, identical suits.

She stopped when she saw us standing by the concrete pillar.

Her eyes traveled from my face to the papers in Alexander’s hand.

She did not look surprised.

She looked annoyed, as if we were a minor inconvenience on her schedule.

“Alexander,” she said.

Her voice was cool and carried easily in the empty garage.

“You are not answering your phone.”

Alexander did not move.

He stood perfectly still, his fingers tightening on the edges of the courier receipts.

“Why are you here, Mother?” he asked.

His voice was dangerously quiet.

Victoria took a step forward, her heels clicking against the concrete.

The two men behind her stayed by the elevator doors.

“I came to collect my grandsons,” she said.

“They do not belong in a place like this.”