Gloria remained in the lobby, her face pale as she spoke rapidly into her cell phone.

I stepped inside the empty lounge.

The smell of stale wine and expensive furniture polish hung in the air.

Graham closed the door behind us, shutting out the murmur of the crowd.

“Listen to me,” he said, stepping into my path.

He looked smaller than he had this morning.

His shoulders were slumped beneath his bespoke tuxedo jacket.

“You have the money,” he said.

“You have all of it.”

“I have the assets I bought,” I corrected him.

“I bought your father’s outstanding notes from the bank three months ago.”

“Why?” he whispered.

“To protect my daughters,” I said.

“You were going to drag them down with your bankruptcy.”

Graham shook his head, a desperate, hollow grin appearing on his face.

“But we are married, Jocelyn.”

“That means my success is your success.”

“And your debts are your own,” I said.

“I signed the post-nuptial agreement your mother insisted on, remember?”

Graham winced.

He had forgotten about the document Gloria had forced me to sign five years ago.