In his right, he kept his own weapon lowered but ready.

Vance was cowering behind a stack of rotting wooden pallets, his face pale and wet with sweat.

“She doesn’t belong here,” Vivian said, her eyes darting between me and Marco.

“Neither do you, Vivian,” I said, my voice trembling but clear.

“This is Mercer business,” she snapped, her knuckles turning white on the grip of the gun.

“It stopped being just Mercer business when you tried to kill my baby,” I said.

The cold drafts of the warehouse cut through my thin coat.

Marco took a slow step forward, his boots scraping on the grit.

“It’s over, Vivian,” Marco said.

“Vance has already given up the ledger.”

“He’s lying,” Vivian hissed, her gaze flicking to the trembling notary.

“I’m not lying!” Vance squeaked from behind the pallets.

“Arthur Mercer paid me fifty thousand dollars to forge the termination of parental rights.”

“Shut up, Vance!” Vivian screamed, her voice cracking in the damp air.

“He signed the authorization himself,” Vance continued, his voice rising in panic.

“I have the digital certificate from the Mercer Holdings secure server.”