Chapter 3 - The FolderI crossed the concourse toward my mother before she could take another step in Nadia's direction.
"Hand me that folder, Raymond."
He tightened his grip on it. "Weston, this is completely inappropriate. This isn't the place to discuss private estate matters."
"Then it certainly wasn't the place to hunt down a mother and two five-year-olds," I snapped.
My mother kept her chin level, that same cool composure she'd used to run boardrooms for three decades. "You're being emotional, Weston. That woman has staged this encounter with remarkably precise timing."
Nadia stood behind me, pulling the boys close. "I didn't stage anything. I was trying to leave."
Constance didn't so much as glance at her. "You have a multi-million-dollar closing in Boston affecting hundreds of our employees. Do not throw away years of growth over an unverified story."
I pointed at Nadia's open bag on the floor. "I just saw the returned letters, Mother. I saw the cashier's check with your signature on it."
"Letters prove nothing about paternity."
"No," I said. "They prove somebody intercepted my mail for six straight years."
Raymond tried to speak. I cut him off. "What's in that folder? Hand it over right now or you're fired as corporate counsel before I leave this terminal."
Raymond glanced at my mother, hesitating half a second too long. That hesitation told me everything I needed to know.
I ripped the folder out of his hands and tore open the clasp. Inside sat a private investigator's report — surveillance photos of Nadia walking the boys to preschool, copies of their daily schedules, and a drafted settlement offering her two hundred thousand dollars in exchange for total non-disclosure and an agreement that any future contact go strictly through Raymond's firm.
My stomach turned over. "You hired someone to stalk my children?"
"To investigate children whose legal status was completely unverified," my mother corrected, without a shred of remorse in her voice.
That's when Nadia reached into a hidden pocket in her suitcase lining. "Show him this one too."
She pulled out a single folded sheet on my hotel company's letterhead, dated six years earlier. It stated, in brief, brutal language, that I was fully aware of the pregnancy, had no interest in a relationship with Nadia or the children, and directed all future communication through Raymond's firm.
At the bottom sat my signature.
I stared at it. "I never signed this."
Nadia closed her eyes, tears sliding down her face. For six years she'd hated that piece of paper. She'd reread it during late-night fevers, on fatherless birthdays, filling out school medical forms, every time one of the boys asked why other dads showed up to school plays.
Raymond went white.
My mother didn't blink. "It was the best decision for everyone involved."
"You forged my signature."
"I prevented you from making a permanent mistake."
"They're my sons!"
She finally looked at Sawyer and Rhys. No warmth in her eyes. Just cold calculation.
"Those children didn't need a father, Weston. Their mother simply needed to understand her place."
Nadia flinched like she'd been struck.
I didn't raise my voice. I called my CFO and canceled the Boston deal outright. I told our IT and legal departments to lock down every server, email archive, and mail log tied to my mother and Raymond. Then I flagged airport security and asked them to escort both of them away from my family.
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"You're destroying your own family," my mother said, staring at me in disbelief.
"No," I said, looking her dead in the eye. "I'm finally finding out who destroyed it six years ago."
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