“We won’t,” Marisol said firmly. “But we need to find what’s in that safe deposit box first. If there’s proof of his hidden assets, his settlement offer is worthless.”

We arrived at Marisol’s office building in downtown Miami.

The air conditioning inside the lobby was a welcome relief from the sweltering humidity.

We took the elevator to the twelfth floor.

In the conference room, the silver laptop bag sat on the mahogany table.

Marisol’s IT specialist, a young man named Leo, was already waiting for us.

He had his own laptop open, cables running across the table.

“Did you get into it?” Marisol asked, setting her briefcase down.

Leo looked up and nodded.

“Stephanie didn’t have time to complete the format,” Leo said. “The operating system is corrupted, but the user data partition is intact.”

“Can you access the financial folders?” I asked, leaning over the table.

“I’m copying the drive image now,” Leo said, pointing to a progress bar on his screen. “It’s taking a while because of the file encryption, but I bypassed her password.”

“What did she try to delete?” Marisol asked.