Ethan looked from the pen to the window.

“They’re here, Clara,” he hissed, his face draining of color.

“If I sign this, I’m admitting to—”

“You’re signing a civil division of assets,” I interrupted.

“The feds don’t care about our divorce.”

“But they will care about the thumb drive in my pocket.”

Another heavy blow struck the door downstairs.

“Open up! Federal warrant!”

Lila let out a sharp sob, burying her face in her hands.

Her shoulders shook violently against the fabric of her cheap polyester blazer.

Ethan’s hand hovered over the paper.

A drop of sweat fell from his forehead, soaking into the white margin of the page.

“If I sign,” he stammered, “you help me? You pay for Vance’s criminal defense guy?”

“I will pay the retainer,” I said.

“But only if both copies are signed before that door opens.”

He grabbed the pen.

His signature was a jagged, unrecognizable scrawl.

He turned the page, his trembling fingers tearing the corner slightly.

He signed the second copy.

I reached out and slid the papers toward me.

I checked the dates.