“We don’t have days,” Diane agreed. “The board meets in forty-eight hours.”

She stopped typing and looked at me.

“Vivian, when you first started the Whitmore Group, how was it funded?”

“My father gave us a startup loan,” I said. “Fifty thousand dollars.”

“And did you sign a prenuptial agreement before you married Grant?”

“Yes,” I said. “Grant insisted on it. He didn’t want my family’s money tied up if we failed.”

Diane stood up and walked to a row of grey filing cabinets.

“We need that document,” she said. “The original.”

“It’s in the safe at the house,” I said. “The safe I can’t reach.”

“Do you have a digital copy?”

“I might have one on my old hard drive,” I said. “But Grant took my laptop.”

Diane pulled open a metal drawer with a loud metallic scrape.

“Your father’s attorney was Arthur Pendelton,” she said. “He retired five years ago.”

“His firm was absorbed by a larger group in Irvine,” I said.

“I know the managing partner there,” Diane said, pulling out a thick manila folder.

She laid it on the desk and began flipping through yellowed pages.