Chapter 7
Mateo drew his gun first.
Then everyone moved.
Lucille’s guards froze with their hands half-raised.
My son whimpered against my chest.
I covered the back of his head with one hand.
“Take another step,” Mateo said, “and this becomes simple.”
Lucille looked offended.
As if weapons were fine when protecting her, but vulgar when used against her.
“Rafael,” she said, “you are proving every claim I have made tonight.”
“Good.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Good?”
“Yes. Tell the court I refused to hand my son to the woman who insulted his dead mother and threatened me in my own house.”
Celina snapped, “You destroyed the terrace like a madman.”
I looked at the briefcase.
“What is in there?”
Victor swallowed.
Lucille answered for him.
“Family documents.”
“Open it.”
“No.”
Mateo took one step.
The guard holding the briefcase placed it on the floor and backed away.
Smart man.
I handed Emmett to Mateo’s second guard, Isaac.
“Do not let anyone touch him.”
Then I opened the briefcase.
Inside were passports.
Cash.
A flash drive.
And a medical file with Amara’s name.
My hands went numb.
I lifted it.
Lucille’s expression turned blank.
A worse mask than anger.
I opened the file.
Bloodwork.
Medication notes.
Private invoices.
Dr. Adrian Cross.
And one handwritten instruction.
Increase dosage before custody meeting.
I looked at Victor.
“What custody meeting?”
He closed his eyes.
Lucille hissed, “Victor.”
He whispered, “Amara planned to file for separation.”
The foyer went silent.
“She was leaving?” I asked.
Victor nodded.
“With Emmett.”
My mother said coldly, “She was stealing him.”
May you like
I stepped toward her.
“She was saving him.”
