“Sarah found them,” I said. “In the old archive files at the foundation. Helena forgot to shred the physical back-ups of her personal ledger.”

Blake reached for the silver flash drive.

“What’s on this?” he asked.

“Audio recordings,” I said. “Helena talking to her attorneys. She planned the entire asset division to look like I was blackmailing the family.”

Blake plugged the drive into his laptop.

He clicked on the first file.

Helena’s sharp, cultured voice filled the quiet office.

“…make sure the press gets the narrative early,” her voice said through the speakers. “Emma must look like a gold-digger. If Blake doubts it, show him the Geneva transfer. He won’t look any deeper.”

Blake clicked the file closed.

The sound of his mother’s voice seemed to hang in the air like smoke.

He looked up at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of rage and profound sorrow.

“I believed her,” he said. “I let her take my family.”

“You did,” I said.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said. “I am so sorry.”

“An apology doesn’t give my sons their father back, Blake,” I said.