One of them called out.

“Ms. Brooks?”

I turned.

He crouched beside the wall.

“We found something back here.”

He held up a small black storage drive.

My heart gave a strange little jump.

There was a white inventory sticker on the underside.

BDS-ARCHIVE-07.

I knew that drive.

It had disappeared eleven months earlier.

It contained archived project files from Brooks Design Studio.

I had assumed an employee misplaced it during our office renovation.

Eric’s expression changed instantly.

Not dramatically.

That was what frightened me.

He simply went still.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

I looked at him.

“Then you won’t mind if I check.”

“Natalie.”

I opened my laptop on the kitchen island.

Eric stepped forward.

“Don’t.”

One word.

Too fast.

Too sharp.

I inserted the drive.

A folder opened.

Then another.

My stomach tightened.

Photographs of invoices.

Contracts.

Vendor lists.

Client budgets.

Architectural plans.

Confidential pricing agreements.

Private correspondence.

There were dozens of folders labeled with the names of Brooks Design Studio clients.

Some of those clients were wealthy.

A few were extremely wealthy.

One was a retired federal judge.

Another was the CEO of a medical-device company.

Another owned hotels across three states.

“What the hell is this?” I whispered.

Marissa had moved closer.

She saw the screen.

Her face drained of color.

“Eric…”

He looked at her.

She whispered, “You told me those were yours.”

I turned.

“What did he give you?”

She stepped backward.

Eric reached toward the laptop.

I pulled it away.

Then my phone rang.

My attorney.

Catherine Doyle.

I answered on speaker.

“Natalie,” she said, “before you leave the property, do not let Eric destroy anything.”

Eric froze.

“Why?”

“We just discovered a transfer from your company account that connects to an LLC registered yesterday.”

Marissa went completely still.

I looked at her.

“What is the LLC called?”

There was a pause.

Then Catherine said:

“Vale House Interiors LLC.”

I looked at Marissa.

Vale.

Her last name.

Eric lunged for the storage drive.

I stepped back, but Leah moved between us.

“Don’t touch her.”

Eric stopped.

Marissa stared at him.

“What transfer?”

Nobody answered her.

She grabbed Eric’s arm.

“What transfer?”

“It’s not what you think.”

Catherine’s voice came through the phone.

“Natalie, call the police.”

Eric looked at me.

And for the first time since I had discovered his affair, my husband looked afraid.

The transfer was for $187,400.

It had been initiated from one of Brooks Design Studio’s reserve accounts the previous afternoon.

Our bank had flagged it because the receiving account belonged to a newly formed company.

Vale House Interiors LLC.

Registered to Marissa.

Her address.

Her signature.

But Marissa looked as shocked as I felt.

“I didn’t open that account.”

Eric closed his eyes.

She turned toward him.

“You said you were setting up a company for us.”

Silence.

“You said after the divorce we’d start something together.”

“Marissa—”

“What did you do?”

Catherine interrupted.

“Natalie, I’m coming over. Don’t discuss anything else.”

But something had already shifted.