“A routing number,” I said. “And a company called Hesperia Holdings.”

“I can run the routing number,” she said. “But Clara, if this is about Ethan, you need to be careful.”

“I am being careful,” I said.

“Does he know you’re looking?”

“No,” I said. “He thinks I’m organizing gallery files.”

“Good,” Sarah said. “Keep it that way.”

“What else do I need to find?” I asked.

“Everything,” she said. “Tax returns, bank statements, corporate disclosures, and any LLC registration documents you can get your hands on.”

“I’ll find them,” I said.

“Call me when you have the files,” Sarah said. “And Clara? Use a secure email.”

“I will,” I said.

I hung up the phone and set it on the kitchen island.

The house was quiet now, save for the hum of the refrigerator.

Outside, a gray drizzle began to patter against the tall glass windows of the living room.

I walked up the stairs to Ethan’s private study.

The room smelled of sandalwood oil, old paper, and expensive leather.

His heavy mahogany desk sat in the center of the room, clean and neat.