“No,” Grant snapped, his eyes wide. “Let the record show that Nora Whitaker has spent the last year searching for any excuse to ruin me because I wanted a divorce.”

He looked at the video camera again, trying to project the image of a wronged executive.

“She is using her wealth to buy a federal investigation,” he said.

I leaned back in my chair, keeping my hands folded in my lap.

“Are you finished, Grant?” I asked.

“You’re a parasite, Nora,” he said, his voice dropping to a low hiss. “You always have been.”

Lena opened a second blue folder and took out a thick stack of bank statements.

She didn’t hand them to Daniel; instead, she laid them flat in the center of the table.

“These are the audited accounts of the Whitaker Charity Foundation from the last three fiscal years,” Lena said.

She pointed to a column highlighted in yellow.

“On fourteen separate occasions, funds designated for the construction of pediatric medical clinics were transferred to an offshore entity named Blue Horizon Holdings,” Lena said.

Grant’s eyes darted to the paper, then back to the window.