“I was trying to protect my daughter,” he said.

“You were trying to find a leverage point to force me into a divorce settlement where you got the house,” I said.

My voice remained level, devoid of anger.

In my line of work, anger was a useless emotion.

It clouded judgment and caused mistakes.

“I will sign the house over to you,” Daniel said, his breathing shallow. “The Lakewood house. It’s yours. Just drop the forensic audit. Don’t send it to the district attorney.”

“The house is already in my name,” I said. “I bought it before we married. The prenuptial agreement you signed is quite clear on that point.”

“The courts could throw that out,” he threatened, though his voice lacked conviction.

“My attorneys are from the Judge Advocate General’s Corps,” I said. “They do not lose.”

“Rachel, please,” he sobbed.

It was a pathetic sound.

A grown man, reduced to tears in his car on the side of the highway because his lies had finally run out of runway.

“I have to go, Daniel,” I said.

“No, wait—”