She glanced around the damp garage with clear disgust.

“They belong in the penthouse, where they can be properly cared for.”

“They are my sons,” I said, stepping in front of Alexander.

Victoria did not look at me.

She kept her eyes fixed on her son.

“Alexander, let us not make a scene in a public parking structure,” she said.

“Your father’s lawyers are already drafting the custody transition papers.”

“The transition papers,” Alexander repeated.

It was not a question.

“Yes,” Victoria said.

“We need to protect the Sterling name from any further embarrassment.”

Alexander finally held up the papers I had given him.

The yellowed courier receipts fluttered slightly in the draft.

“You signed for these,” he said.

Victoria’s gaze flicked down to the pages.

Her expression did not change.

“I have no idea what those are,” she said.

“They are the letters Emma sent me,” Alexander said.

“The letters telling me she was pregnant.”

“The letters with the medical records from her clinic.”

Victoria sighed, a soft, patronizing sound.

“Alexander, anyone can forge a signature.”

“This woman has been trying to extort our family for nearly a decade.”