The morning of our divorce, my husband walked in with his mistress on his arm—both dressed like they’d already claimed the life they thought they stole from me.

Forensic accountants uncover not only the Harbor Point transfers but two additional side channels, smaller but cleaner, each one confirming pattern and intent. His firm cuts him loose before the review finishes. The press does not fully pick up the story, but in your world, in his industry, it does not need to. Reputation travels fastest where people pretend it doesn’t.

One evening in February, Michael comes by your apartment with takeout and papers.

Mateo is asleep in his bassinet. Your mother has gone home for the night because even devoted grandmothers need their own beds sometimes. Michael sits at your kitchen table while you rock a foot against the bassinet leg with unconscious rhythm.

“We have an offer,” he says.

You arch a brow. “From whom?”

“From a man discovering that litigation and unemployment are poor dance partners.”

He slides the folder toward you.