I opened the bottom drawer of the desk.

It was locked.

I knew where he kept the spare key.

It was inside the silver humidor on the side table, tucked beneath a layer of cedar wrappers.

My fingers brushed the cool metal of the key.

I unlocked the drawer and pulled it open.

Inside were neat rows of green hanging folders.

I began pulling out our personal tax returns from the last five years.

I laid them out on the Persian rug.

Next, I opened his personal laptop, which sat on the charging dock.

He had changed his password recently, but I knew his patterns.

He always used the name of his first sailboat followed by the year he graduated business school.

I typed it in.

The screen flickered and unlocked.

I opened his private financial folder.

There was a subfolder labeled “Personal Investments.”

Inside, I found PDF statements for bank accounts I had never seen before.

They were not listed on our joint tax disclosures.

I opened the most recent statement from an account based in the Cayman Islands.

The balance was seven hundred and forty thousand dollars.