“She did not want to go to prison for conspiracy, Julian,” I said.

The line went silent for a moment, except for the heavy gust of wind on his end.

“I am not going down alone,” he said.

Then the call went dead.

I stared at the black screen of my phone.

My fingers were cold.

I tapped the screen to call Lydia back.

She answered on the first ring.

“Did he call you?” she asked immediately.

“Yes,” I said. “He knows about Isabel.”

“Good,” Lydia said. “She just finished uploading the archive to our secure server.”

“What is in it?” I asked.

I walked over to the kitchen island, pulling my wool cardigan tighter around my shoulders.

“Everything,” Lydia said. “Text messages from the day he opened the offshore account.”

“Screenshots of his bank transfers to her private account.”

“And several messages where he explicitly tells her he is undervaluation-pricing the marital assets so you would not get them.”

I sat down on the wooden stool.

“Is it enough to prove fraud in court?” I asked.

“It is enough to refer this to the district attorney,” Lydia said.