One second, Julian was standing across our marble kitchen demanding twenty-eight thousand dollars for his mother's "once-in-a-lifetime European tour."

Darcy called back in four hours.

I was at my desk, working through a stack of contracts that had waited two days for my attention, when my phone lit up with her name.

"The account exists," she said.

"It was opened six years ago.

Julian is the primary holder." A pause.

"There's a secondary holder."

I set my pen down.

"Petra."

"Her full name is Petra Voss.

She's thirty-one.

She works in commercial real estate.

She was added to the account fourteen months ago — which matches your credit card records."

Fourteen months.

The same window as the jewelry, the hotel suites, the dinners.

"How much is in it?" I asked.

"Currently?

Forty-two thousand.

But Darcy pulled the full transaction history.

Over the last six years, just under two hundred and thirty thousand dollars moved through that account.

Most of it has been spent." A pause.

"Sloan, in the last three months, Julian made four transfers out of that account.

Each one just under ten thousand dollars.

To a third account."

"Whose?"

"We don't have that yet.

The transfers went to an account at a private bank.

We've submitted the request, but it may take a few days."

I thought about the timing.

Three months ago.

Around the time I had started reviewing household finances more carefully.

Around the time Julian had begun pushing harder for the Europe money.

"He knew I was getting close," I said.

"It looks that way."

"He was moving money out before I could find it."

"Yes." Darcy's voice was measured.

"I've spoken to a colleague who handles financial fraud cases.

She wants to meet with us tomorrow morning.

This is beyond a civil divorce matter now, Sloan.

What Julian did with the business — the transfers, using your name — and what he's been doing with this account — it crosses into territory that carries criminal exposure."

Criminal.

The word sat differently than I expected.

Not satisfying.

Not frightening.

Just heavy.

"Does he know we've found the account?" I asked.

"Not yet.

But his attorney made contact with my office this afternoon.

Julian is proposing a settlement.

He wants to negotiate."

"Of course he does."

"He's offering to sign over his claim to the house — which he doesn't have — in exchange for you dropping any financial investigation."

I almost laughed.

"He's offering me something he never owned."

"Yes.

Which tells us he doesn't yet know how much we have." Darcy paused.

"I recommend we don't respond until after tomorrow's meeting.

Let him sit with it overnight."

"Agreed."

I hung up and looked out the window.

The city was going dark, lights coming on in the buildings across from mine.

Somewhere out there, Julian was sitting with his attorney, constructing an offer he thought was generous, built on the assumption that I was still the woman who would take the quiet path to keep the peace.

He had not updated his understanding of me.

My phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number.

*I think we should talk.

— P*

I stared at it.

Then I typed back: *Who is this?*

The reply came in under a minute.

*Petra Voss.

I know that's not what you expected.

But I have something you need to hear.

And I think Julian lied to both of us.*