Martin sank back into his armchair.

His hands were trembling so badly he had to press them against his knees.

“You can’t prove any of this in court,” Martin said. “It’s just a digital PDF. It could have been fabricated by anyone.”

“The compliance officer who sent this has already cooperated with federal investigators,” my father said.

My mother gasped.

“Federal?” she whispered.

“They’ve been watching the accounts for three weeks, Claire,” my father said. “I wanted to see if you would stop. But you didn’t.”

He looked at the clock on the wall.

“In fact, another transfer was scheduled for tomorrow morning,” he said.

My mother dropped her head into her hands and began to sob.

Martin just stared at the fireplace, his mouth slightly open.

My father took out his phone again and unlocked it.

He did not look at my mother as she wept.

“I gave you every chance to be honest with me,” my father said to her. “Even when you served me with those divorce papers, I was going to offer you a fair settlement.”