He was just a predator waiting for my mother to die so he could take her money.

I closed the closet door and went to sleep.

***

On Monday morning, the sky over New York was a dull, heavy gray.

A cold rain was tapping against the windows of Vance’s office.

The office was on the fourteenth floor of a building in downtown Manhattan.

The walls were lined with dark mahogany bookshelves filled with thick legal volumes.

Vance sat behind a large desk covered in neat stacks of paper.

He pushed a thick document toward me.

“This is the petition for divorce,” he said. “We are filing under the grounds of cruel and inhuman treatment, as well as criminal conduct.”

I picked up the pen he offered.

“The criminal charges against Ethan are already in the system,” Vance explained. “I have attached the police report and the arrest record as Exhibit A.”

“We also have the forensic accountant’s report on the forged signatures,” he added.

“What about the tablet?” I asked.

“The attempted wire transfer from Friday night is detailed in Exhibit B,” Vance said. “It proves an active attempt to hide assets.”