I unzipped the pouch under the edge of the table, shielding it from the rest of the room.

Inside was a small hard drive, three black debit cards, and a ledger written in Victor’s tight, cramped handwriting.

I flipped to the first page of the ledger.

He had forged my signature on authorization forms to transfer funds from our joint investment account to a bank in Panama.

“Have you shown this to anyone else?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“No,” she said. “I was too afraid.”

“You did the right thing by calling me,” I said, closing the zipper.

“Will you tell the prosecutor that I helped you?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“I will tell Evelyn Price,” I said. “She will handle the authorities.”

I stood up to leave.

Brooke reached out and touched my sleeve, her fingers trembling.

“I did not know he was stealing from you from the very beginning,” she said.

I looked down at her hand until she let go.

“He was stealing from everyone, Brooke,” I said.

I left the café and walked three blocks to the Pacific National Bank on First Avenue.