“Let him speak, Lydia,” I said quietly.

Lydia looked at me, her brow furrowing, but she nodded once and stepped aside.

“Thank you,” Evan said, taking a step toward the heavy mahogany desk.

He didn’t look at the sealed evidence bags the deputy had placed on the side table, though I knew he recognized them.

“Claire, I know you’re angry,” he began, his voice dropping to a low, urgent murmur.

“Angry is not the word for it, Evan,” I said.

“I made mistakes,” he said, his fingers twitching against his thighs.

“The investments, the wine… I got desperate. But we don’t have to ruin everything over this.”

“You stole from my family,” I said.

“You let Sloane into the vault.”

He winced at the mention of Sloane’s name, glancing quickly at Judge Vance.

“It was a business arrangement that went too far,” Evan said, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I can fix it. I have a proposal.”

He reached into his coat pocket, but Lydia immediately moved her hand toward her briefcase, watching him closely.