The blue folder containing the complete forensic audit was resting against the lining.

I had spent six months compiling the bank statements, the wire transfers, and the forged signatures.

My best friend, Maren, had helped me trace the shell companies back to an address in Delaware.

Every dollar Graham had taken from the firm was documented in those pages.

“I’m not going to be ruined, Graham,” I said.

“I filed for a separate maintenance agreement months ago.”

“My personal accounts are entirely separate from yours.”

“The money my father left me is in a trust you can’t touch.”

Graham’s face went pale.

“You’ve been planning this,” he said.

“For a very long time,” I replied.

“You thought I was just the wife who organized the dinner parties.”

“You forgot that I have a degree in finance, too.”

“I knew exactly what you were doing the moment you changed the password on the home server.”

He stared at me, his mouth slightly open.

He looked like he was seeing me for the first time in ten years.

“Arden, please,” he said, his voice cracking.