My phone buzzed in my hand, interrupting the video feed.

Julian’s name flashed on the screen.

I let it ring three times before I answered.

“Elena,” he gasped, his breath ragged. “Where are you? Where is my son?”

“Harrison is safe,” I said.

“What did you do to the house?” he demanded, his voice rising. “Where is everything?”

“I took what belongs to me,” I said.

“You can’t do this,” he hissed. “I will call the police. This is kidnapping.”

“It is not kidnapping, Julian,” I said. “Lydia Monroe has already filed the custody paperwork.”

There was a long pause on the line.

I could hear his heavy breathing, and the faint sound of Isabel asking him what was happening in the background.

“Look on the kitchen island,” I told him.

“There is an envelope there for you.”

I hung up before he could reply.

On the screen, I watched him walk slowly back down the stairs.

He entered the empty kitchen.

The white marble island stood in the center of the room, completely bare except for the packet of papers.

He picked it up, his fingers trembling slightly.

He ripped the envelope open.

I closed the app on my phone and set it face down on the laminate table.

Beside my coffee cup sat a small black USB drive.

It contained the screenshots of the offshore accounts he thought I never knew about.

It also contained the digital copy of his private corporate ledger.

My waitress came by and refilled my cup.

The black coffee smelled strong and burnt.

“Everything alright, hon?” she asked, looking at my tense shoulders.

“Yes,” I said. “Just starting over.”

She nodded, wiped the table, and walked away.

I looked out the window at the grey Maine coastline, the waves crashing against the dark rocks.

Harrison was still asleep in the booth beside me, wrapped in his blue blanket.