“I’m not penniless, Julian,” I said, reaching down into the canvas tote bag leaning against the wheel of my hospital bed.

I lifted the navy manila accordion folder onto my lap and undid the heavy black elastic band across the top.

I took out three separate stacks of audited papers, freshly printed and held with metal legal clips, along with a small blue flash drive from the hidden zipper pocket.

“On October twenty-second, you started a wire transfer of forty-one thousand two hundred dollars from the foundation account into Mercer Ridge LLC,” I said, laying the top printout on the white cotton sheet over my knees.

Julian’s eyes dropped to the paper, his mouth setting into a hard, straight line.