Her assistant, a kind woman with silver hair named Clara, took Lily to the employee breakroom with a box of crayons and a coloring book.

I sat in the deep leather chair opposite Naomi’s mahogany desk.

The view outside was entirely gray, the water below matching the color of the sky.

Naomi paced behind her desk, holding a stack of stapled documents with blue legal backing.

“The emergency filing is active,” Naomi said, sitting down and adjusting her glasses. “The judge signed the temporary restraining order regarding the marital funds at eight forty-five.”

“What does that mean for Grant?” I asked, my hands clasped tightly in my lap.

“It means his primary accounts are frozen,” Naomi said. “He cannot move money, hide assets, or touch the joint investment portfolios until our first formal hearing.”

The heavy glass door of the reception area clicked open outside.

I heard a man’s voice raised in anger, the words muffled but unmistakable.

“I don’t care if she’s in a meeting,” Grant’s voice boomed.

The door to Naomi’s private office pushed open, striking the rubber stopper on the baseboard.