He frowned, his brow furrowing as he tried to recall a document from ten years ago.

“The lifestyle clause,” I said. “Specifically, the infidelity provision.”

The kitchen clock ticked against the wall, a heavy, rhythmic sound.

“Any proven extramarital affair,” I said, “negates your claim to the joint accounts.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

“It also transfers your remaining shares in Whitaker-Crane to me if those shares were purchased with joint marital funds,” I added.

“That’s not enforceable,” he whispered.

“It is,” I said. “Especially when the mistress in question is also your co-conspirator in a corporate embezzlement scheme.”

The silence in the room grew heavy, thick with the scent of the lilies Maren had arranged on the counter.

“You don’t have proof of anything,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction.

“I have the ledger, Graham,” I said. “The one Bianca kept on her personal laptop.”

His eyes widened slightly at the mention of her name.

“She’s smarter than you,” I said. “But she’s also much more terrified of going to prison.”