"Listen to me very carefully," Julian hissed, pointing a trembling finger at my face.

Julian's eyes moved from the security officer to Darcy to me.

His jaw was working like he was trying to find words that hadn't abandoned him yet.

"You think this is over?" he said finally.

His voice had dropped, but the tremor in it gave him away.

"You freeze a few accounts and walk in here with a lawyer and you think that's it?

I will have those accounts unfrozen by Monday morning.

I have people, Sloan.

You have no idea who you're dealing with."

Darcy didn't even look up from the document she was reviewing.

"You're welcome to try.

The emergency asset freeze was granted by Judge Harmon at six forty-two this morning.

You'll want a very good attorney before you make that call."

"I have attorneys."

"You had attorneys," Darcy said.

"On Sloan's credit line.

Which is now frozen."

The silence that followed was the most satisfying sound I had heard in five years.

Fiona set the open envelope down on the table.

Her pearls caught the light as she straightened in her chair, composing herself with the practiced dignity of a woman who had spent decades performing grace she didn't feel.

"Sloan," she said, her voice smooth and controlled.

"Whatever has happened between you and Julian, I hope you understand that this is my birthday.

There are guests arriving in less than an hour.

Whatever grievances you have, surely they can wait one day."

I looked at her for a long moment.

"They've waited five years," I said.

"One more hour seemed excessive."

I reached into my bag and pulled out the second envelope.

I didn't hand it to Fiona.

I set it on the table between them, equidistant, so they would have to decide together who opened it.

Julian grabbed it first.

He tore it open.

His eyes moved across the first page.

Then stopped.

"Where did you get this?" His voice had changed entirely.

The performance was gone.

What was underneath it was something rawer and much more afraid.

"A forensic accountant," I said.

"I hired her eight months ago.

I had a feeling the mortgage payments weren't the only thing you were taking from me."

Fiona's hand moved toward the document.

Julian pulled it back.

"Julian." Her voice was sharp now.

The birthday composure cracked at the edges.

"What is it?

What does it say?"

"It says," Darcy said calmly, stepping forward and placing a second copy on the table in front of Fiona, "that over the past four years, Julian has been transferring funds from Sloan's personal business account into a separate account held jointly with a third party.

The total amount transferred is four hundred and twelve thousand dollars."

Fiona stared at the number.

Her mouth opened.

Closed.

"That's not—" Julian started.

"The account," Darcy continued, "is held jointly with a woman named Petra Voss.

Who, according to the lease agreement also in that envelope, has been living in an apartment on North Michigan Avenue for the past three years.

An apartment whose rent Julian has been paying.

With Sloan's money."

The room went very still.

Fiona turned to look at her son.

Not at me.

At him.

"Julian," she said.

Just his name.

Nothing else.

He didn't answer her.

He was still staring at the documents, turning pages, and I could see him calculating — not feeling, calculating — whether any of this could be undone, contested, buried.

"There's a third document," I said.

"Behind the lease."

He turned to the next page.

I watched his face when he reached it.

It was a photograph.

Julian and Petra Voss, taken outside the North Michigan Avenue building fourteen months ago.

Julian had his arm around her.

She was visibly pregnant.

Julian set the papers down on the table very slowly, like a man trying not to make a sudden movement near something dangerous.

"Sloan—"

"Don't," I said.

The same word Darcy had used.