“And Isabel?” I asked.

“Her lawyer called me twenty minutes ago,” Lydia said, a slight edge of satisfaction in her voice.

“She is panicking. She does not want to be dragged into a civil conspiracy suit.”

“Is she going to cooperate with us?”

“She offered to hand over her personal phone logs,” Lydia said.

“Every text, every photo, every financial promise Julian made to her over the last eighteen months.”

I closed my eyes, feeling a brief moment of relief.

Outside, the Maine rain began to patter against the windowpane.

Suddenly, my personal cell phone buzzed on the table.

It was an restricted number, different from the one that had texted me the night before.

I picked it up, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“Elena,” Julian’s voice came through, raw and shaking with anger.

“You should not be calling me, Julian,” I said, my hand tightening on the plastic.

“You think you have won,” he whispered, the sound of wind rustling in the background.

“But you do not know what I had to do to get that money, and neither does your lawyer.”