It was a bank authorization form from a private lending firm in California.

The applicant’s name was Melanie Harper.

But the email address listed beneath it belonged to my sister.

“He told me it was a shell company,” Chloe said, her voice barely audible. “He said it was for tax purposes.”

“He lied to you,” I said.

“No, he didn’t,” she said, her defensive edge returning. “Lucas loves me, Anne. He’s leaving you for me.”

The words were meant to hurt, to stab at the scar of my marriage.

But they didn’t.

I felt a cold, dull pity for her instead.

“He isn’t leaving me for you,” I said. “He’s using you to buy time.”

“You’re jealous,” she said, though she didn’t look convinced. “You’ve always been jealous of me.”

“Look at the second document,” I said, pointing at the screen. “Scroll down.”

Her thumb trembled as she swiped the screen upward.

The next file was an offshore wire transfer authorization.

It was dated three days ago.

The destination was a bank in Grand Cayman.

The account holder’s name was Lucas Vance.

Only Lucas Vance.