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“Impressive,” I note. “What was your degree?”

“Business, ma’am.”

“And you always intended to become a personal assistant?”

“Objection,” Eli calls. “Relevance.”

I give my attention to Judge Harding. “Your Honor, it couldn’t bemorerelevant.”

“Overruled,” she answers, giving me a flat look. “But if you have a point, let’s get there, Ms. Pierce.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” I look back to Anton. “Mr. Andrews?”

“I…I’m not sure,” he says nervously. “My father wanted me to earn a business degree.”

“Interesting.” I turn away from him, my hands behind my back as if I’m thinking. I look at Lorenzo’s table, noticing his knuckles are white from the way he’s clenching his fist. “It’s interesting, Mr. Andrews,” I continue, still looking out at the court instead of back at him. “Because we were unable to find anyone by your name that was enrolled at Northwestern University during the years you supposedly attended.”

I turn back to see his shocked expression, not missing the way his eyes dart yet again to Lorenzo’s table. “I—”

“I thought that was strange,” I go on, “but only until I found that you legally changed your name in 2014, isn’t that right?”

“Objection!” Eli shouts, his chair scraping as he stands.

I step over to my table, pulling out a folder of documents and walking it back to the bench. “You’ll notice this is marked item number forty-seven, a document disclosed to both parties in pretrial that overviews the employment records of Mr. Andrews. If you turn to page seven, under the section ‘Other Names,’ Mr. Andrews has listed his former legal name. This already-admitted evidence means it’s completely admissible for our team to follow up on the matter.”

Judge Harding skims the document, nodding before handing it back. “She’s right, Mr. Hart. It’s previously disclosed.”

“This is outrageous!” Lorenzo slams his fists on the table. “You cannot—”

“Order,” Judge Harding says harshly, slamming her gavel before pointing it at Eli. “Get your client under control, Mr. Hart.”

I have to bite back my smile. Lorenzo must realize that he’s dug his own grave, and I’m happy to be holding the shovel. I take the documents back from the judge, calmly extending them to Anton so that he can see page seven.

“Mr. Andrews,” I say sweetly. “Can you please read to me the name you listed on your employment application for Casiraghi Development in 2015?”

Anton looks as white as a sheet. Clearly, his nervous disposition wasn’t an inherited one.

When he doesn’t immediately answer, I urge, “Mr. Andrews?”

“A-Anton Kinsley,” he stutters.

Satisfaction washes over me. “Which would mean you share the same last name as the woman we believe to have been in a long-standing romantic relationship with Mr. Casiraghi, would it not?”

His eyes are wide, and I notice he doesn’t dare to glance at Lorenzo now. “Yes.”

“Very interesting.” I pull out another document from my folder. “Can you tell me what this document is?”

Anton sucks in a breath. “It’s my registration paperwork for Northwestern.”

“That’s right.” I flip the page. “And can you tell me what this document is that you submitted with that paperwork for proof of age?”

“My birth certificate,” he practically whispers.

“What was that?”

“My birth certificate,” he says louder.

“And can you please read for the court who are listed as your parents on this document?”