“He told you that we only stay together for the sake of his public image,” I continued.

She nodded, her grip on the glass loosening slightly.

“And he promised you that as soon as the senior partnership was finalized, he would file for divorce,” I said.

“He did,” she said, a small spark of hope appearing in her eyes. “He’s going to. We love each other.”

I reached over to the passenger seat and picked up my leather handbag.

I unzipped the middle compartment and pulled out a manila folder.

I had prepared it weeks ago, keeping it in the car just in case.

I slid the folder through the two-inch crack in the window.

“Open it,” I said.

Lila looked down at the paper, then back at me.

“What is this?”

“Open it, Lila,” I repeated.

She took the folder.

Her hands were shaking so badly she almost dropped it onto the wet concrete.

She flipped the cover open.

The overhead fluorescent light cast a sickly yellow glow on the first page.

It was a copy of an internal human resources memo from three years ago.