The clock on the kitchen wall ticked.

The sound seemed twice as loud as usual.

“They are transferring me to the fraud manager,” Vance whispered to me.

I looked at the screen.

Eighty-five percent.

“Come on,” I whispered.

“Yes, this is Vance Miller,” Vance said suddenly into the phone. “Stop the wire originating from the account ending in four-nine-eight-two.”

He read out the transaction reference number from the tablet screen.

“It is a fraudulent transfer to an offshore account,” he said. “We are filing a formal dispute and a restraining order on the funds.”

The tablet screen flickered.

The progress bar froze at ninety-one percent.

A red warning box appeared over the loading bar.

*Transaction Suspended.*

*Contact Customer Support.*

Vance exhaled a long breath.

“Thank you,” he said into the phone. “Keep the entire account locked until you receive the formal court order on Monday morning.”

He ended the call and set his phone on the counter.

“It’s stopped,” he said.

My shoulders finally dropped.

“That was almost everything we had left in the joint account,” I said.

“It was his last desperate move,” Vance said.