“There they are,” Elena said, pointing a finger at Harrison. “That is the man my client has a restraining order against.”

The taller officer stepped forward, his hand resting near his holster. “Sir, step away from the lady.”

Harrison’s jaw dropped. “This is my wife’s apartment. I used to live here.”

“The divorce was finalized last month, Mr. Voss,” Elena said, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. “You have no legal right to be on this property.”

“I was just trying to talk to her,” Harrison pleaded, backing up until his shoulders hit the study doorframe.

“Turn around, sir, and place your hands behind your back,” the officer said.

I watched in silence as the officer grabbed Harrison’s wrists.

The metallic click of the handcuffs locking into place was the most satisfying sound I had heard in years.

“Mother, do something!” Harrison yelled, his voice cracking with panic. “Tell them!”

Patricia didn’t even look at him.

Her eyes were fixed entirely on her handbag, her fingers working furiously to tuck the ledger pages deep inside.