I sat across from her, one hand spread over the top of my stomach because Nora—though she did not have a name yet, I was already thinking of her that way—had spent the morning elbowing my organs like she objected to everything.
Sandra folded her hands. “When a woman prepares, they call it obsession. When she protects herself, they call it aggression. When she’s organized, they call it controlling. The point isn’t accuracy. The point is to make you defend your own competence until you’re too tired to keep fighting.”
I stared at the motion again.
“He used the truth.”
“Of course he did. Good liars usually do.”
That steadied me in a strange way.
Because she was right. Gerald hadn’t invented anything. I had hired an investigator. I had documented patterns. I had moved money. I had built a case. He had simply changed the story those facts told.
Sandra started making notes.
“We answer with context, documentation, and witnesses. And if Ashford wants to argue your behavior was irrational, we remind the court that you spent nearly a decade doing asset-tracing professionally.”
I nodded.
Then my phone buzzed.
Henry.
I showed the screen to Sandra.