“We were in Tampa,” Sarah said. “Derek was twenty-four, charming, and broke.”

She paused, looking out the rain-streaked window of the diner.

“I owned a small retail boutique on the bayfront,” she continued. “It was my life’s savings.”

I felt a cold weight settle into my stomach.

“He convinced you to expand,” I said.

Sarah looked back at me, a grim smile touching her lips.

“He did,” she said. “He told me we needed a larger warehouse space for inventory.”

She opened the manila folder.

The first page was a copy of an old lease agreement.

I saw Derek’s signature at the bottom, written in his aggressive, looping cursive.

“He insisted we put the lease and the insurance policy in my name alone,” Sarah said. “He said it was better for tax purposes.”

“Did he take out a secondary policy?” Marisol asked.

Sarah nodded and slid a yellowed document across the table.

“A commercial property and casualty policy,” Sarah said. “Three hundred thousand dollars.”

I leaned forward, looking at the date on the paper.

It was dated October of twelve years ago.