“You weren’t supposed to find that,” Derek said.

His voice went completely flat.

The sloppy, defensive irritation was gone, and a cold, calculating edge took its place.

The music in the background seemed to drop out of his attention entirely.

“Why did you forge my signature on a parental transfer document?” I asked.

Someone in the background yelled a drink order for three more margaritas.

The noise around Derek seemed to swell and push against the tiny phone speaker, but he didn’t react to it.

“Who exactly are you transferring legal custody to?” I asked.