Every time my brother-in-law drove me home, I would lose consciousness and wake up with unexplained aches and pains. My husband would only laugh and say, “You’re just out of shape, that’s all.” After the fourth ride, I secretly slipped a voice recorder into my purse and said nothing. That night, I listened to a phone conversation between the two of them that revealed my blackouts had never been accidental.

He supplied specialized equipment to clinics, negotiated service contracts, and boasted about his relationships with executives who were too important to wait in reception rooms.

He loved paperwork when it made him look successful.

He despised it when it required him to explain himself.

In an old email folder, I found an invitation to a charity reception hosted by Meridian Wellness Partners.

The message had been forwarded by Julian nearly a year earlier.

Its RSVP coordinator was Vanessa Keene.

Below her name was an unfamiliar job title: Director of Client Assurance.

I showed Priya.