He stopped, his hand hovering in the air between us.

His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling quickly under his tailored wool sweater.

“Let’s be reasonable,” he said, his voice dropping to a plea.

“I was reasonable for eight years,” I said.

“There is a way to settle this without involving the authorities,” he said.

“I am listening,” I said, though I kept my hand firmly on my bag.

“We can restructure the settlement,” he said. “I can authorize a transfer from a domestic account.”

“Using what money?” I asked. “The money you stole from the logistics company?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “My personal funds. My retirement portfolio.”

I looked at him, seeing the desperation finally breaking through his polished exterior.

He was no longer the imposing patriarch of the Carter family.

He was an old man trying to keep himself out of a federal penitentiary.

“That won’t be enough,” I said.

“It is millions of dollars, Emily,” he said. “It is more than you would ever get after years of litigation.”

“It’s not about the money anymore, Richard,” I said.