The cab turned the corner, and he disappeared from view.

I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window.

The city was a blur of neon and water.

I knew the next few months would be a battle.

The forensic audit would pull apart every aspect of our lives.

My own finances would be scrutinized under a microscope.

But for the first time in ten years, I felt a strange, quiet sense of peace.

The truth was finally out of his hands.

My phone vibrated in my lap.

I picked it up, expecting a message from my attorney.

Instead, it was an incoming call from an unlisted number.

I pressed the screen to answer.

“Claire,” a voice said on the other end.

It was Nathan.

His voice sounded tired, muffled by the distance and the static on the line.

“I’m at the office in Seattle,” he said.

“You need to see what they just found in the basement archives.”

“What did you find, Nathan?” I asked.

I leaned forward in the cab, pressing the phone close to my ear so the driver couldn’t hear me.