“He tried to kill her, Eleanor.”

“He was reckless,” Eleanor corrected coldly. “But he did not kill her. He is a Thorne. He does not belong in a state penitentiary.”

“And Julian?” I asked. “What about his abuse?”

“Julian will agree to a quiet, uncontested divorce,” Eleanor said. “He will waive all custody claims to any future assets, and he will never contact Clara again. I will personally ensure his compliance.”

She tapped the document with her manicured fingernail.

“Thirty-five million dollars, Madeline. It is more than enough to buy a new life. Anywhere in the world. For both of you.”

I walked slowly toward the table.

My heart was hammering against my ribs, but my training kept my face completely blank.

As a forensic auditor, I had spent decades looking at how people tried to hide their sins behind numbers.

I looked down at the document.

The text was dense, written in the precise, impenetrable language of high-priced corporate attorneys.

“Who is the executing party?” I asked, leaning over the table.

“A private trust,” Eleanor said. “The details are in the annex.”