He unzipped his dark windbreaker, revealing a ruggedized military tablet strapped to his chest.

“I brought the forensic sweep of the Carlisle accounts,” he added.

I lowered my weapon and holstered it.

The yellow warning light on the wall console cast long, jagged shadows across the concrete floor.

“Show me,” I said.

Marcus walked over to the metal desk and set the tablet down.

He tapped the screen, and a bright blue glow illuminated his tired, lined face.

“Your husband didn’t just hide the money, Evelyn,” Marcus said.

“What did he do?” I asked, stepping closer.

“He spent the last eighteen months scrubbing your name off every asset you inherited from your father,” Marcus said.

I leaned over his shoulder, my eyes scanning the columns of digital transactions.

The numbers were staggering, row after row of seven-figure transfers.

“The Denver estate,” I murmured, my finger tracing a line on the screen. “That property has been in my family for three generations.”

“It is officially gone,” Marcus said flatly.

He tapped a folder icon labeled *Project Obsidian*.

“He transferred the deed to a shell company registered in Delaware,” Marcus explained.