The elevator doors slid open in front of me, but I didn’t get in.

I stood there, staring at the screen of my phone as the first page of the document loaded.

It was dated six months before Nolan and I were even married.

The elevator doors closed again.

I stood in the quiet, carpeted hallway of the Hartwell Civic Group, staring at the screen.

The document was a partnership agreement between Nolan and Sloane, drafting the dissolution of my family’s trust before he had even proposed to me.

He had targeted me from the very beginning.

I slipped the phone back into my coat pocket and walked back toward the glass doors of the conference room.

“We need to move the deposition to tomorrow,” I said to Sarah, opening the door.

***

The deposition room at my father’s firm smelled of lemon wax, old paper, and stale coffee.

Nolan sat across from me at the mahogany table, wearing his best charcoal suit and the blue silk tie I had bought him for our first anniversary.