Two hours later I sat across from Karina with the afternoon sun striking the glass awards on her shelf.

He has stripped every asset I have, I said.

I have forty-two dollars in my purse, and my clothes are in a bedroom fifty feet from his mother’s office.

“He is trying to make it impossible for you to run before the ceremony,” she said.

“But you still have the copy of the gray ledger.” A photocopy won’t pay for a train ticket, Karina.

“It will do something much better,” she said, opening a yellow folder.