“I’ve been living in the ugly for three years,” I said. “I just want my son safe.”

Sarah nodded, her expression grim but determined.

“I’ll contact the court-appointed forensic accountant today,” she said. “And I’ll send these drawings to Renee Whitaker immediately.”

She began gathering the papers back into the box.

Just as she reached for the legal logbook, her desk phone began to ring.

She answered it, her eyes remaining fixed on me.

“Sarah Jenkins,” she said.

She listened for a moment, her brow furrowing.

“Yes, she’s in my office right now,” Sarah said, her voice dropping an octave.

She looked up at me, her eyes suddenly wide with concern.

“What do you mean he’s already filed it?” she asked the caller.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I watched her expression shift to pure shock.

She gripped the receiver tightly, her knuckles turning white.

“We need to see that document right now,” Sarah said, and then she hung up.

She looked at me, her mouth slightly open.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.