Her voice sounded tight, anxious.

“He’s not here, Juliette,” I said.

The line went completely quiet for three seconds.

“Claire,” she said, her tone changing instantly. “Where is he?”

“The police are taking him away,” I said. “And they have the drive.”

I heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line.

“What drive?” she asked, trying to sound confused.

“The one with the tax records,” I said. “The one you left in his car.”

She did not deny it.

“He was going to ruin me too,” she whispered. “He told me he was going to put everything in my name before the divorce went through.”

“It’s too late for that,” I said.

“Claire, listen,” she said quickly. “We can make a deal. I have more. I have the emails between him and his mother from three years ago.”

I looked out the kitchen window at the grey sky.

“The Sheriff is here, Juliette,” I said. “You can tell him.”

I hung up the phone before she could answer.

When I walked back to the foyer, Thomas was standing near the library door.