It read: *The Whitaker Foundation – Dedicated to Public Service.*

There was no mention of the Caldwell name.

“It looks perfect, Dina,” I said.

“We have a visitor waiting for you in the courtyard,” she said, pointing toward the glass double doors.

I walked out onto the stone patio.

Marcus was standing by the stone fountain, holding a cup of coffee.

He looked up as the door clicked shut behind me.

“The final settlement papers for the divorce came through this morning,” he said, handing me an envelope.

“Grant signed them from the county jail.”

I opened the envelope and looked at his signature at the bottom of the page.

“He didn’t fight it?” I asked.

“He had no leverage,” Marcus said.

“His defense attorney advised him that cooperation might shave a few years off his sentence.”

“What about his mother?”

“Helen is liquidating her personal assets to pay her legal fees,” Marcus said.

“She will not be attending any board meetings again.”

I folded the papers and put them back in the envelope.

“Is it strange that I don’t feel happy?” I asked, looking up at the bare branches of the oak tree.