During the divorce hearing, my husband sat with his legs crossed, smug: “You will never touch my money again.” His mistress chimed in, “That’s right, honey.” His mother smirked, “She doesn’t deserve a single penny.”

Judge Corwin set the document down. “Counselors, before we begin, we must address newly submitted materials provided by Mrs Kerrigan.”

Roderick’s attorney looked flustered. “Your Honor, we were not informed of any late submissions.”

“That is because you were not supposed to be,” Corwin replied. He turned to Tamsin. “Mrs Kerrigan, would you care to summarize what you have provided the court?”

Tamsin kept her voice steady. “Every claim is backed by the documents already submitted to the clerk’s office. Timelines, receipts, audio files, and verified financial statements.”

“What is she talking about,” Roderick hissed toward his attorney.

Judge Corwin flipped through the binder Tamsin had prepared. His eyes widened incrementally as he moved page to page. When he reached the last sheet, he exhaled deeply.

“Mr Vale,” he said, leveling his gaze, “the evidence provided shows that you concealed one point three million dollars in undeclared income and diverted funds into accounts registered under fabricated consultancy names.”

A collective gasp swept the courtroom.

Petra clutched Roderick’s arm. “You promised she did not have anything on you,” she whispered, near panic.