The invoices reminded me that I was something far more dangerous to both of them than a wife: I was the majority owner of the company they were looting, and I had the receipts.

Sabrina had dressed, that evening, to move into my house as the woman who had won.

She had not understood, walking through my door with her overnight bag, that she was not arriving at a victory.

She was arriving at the scene of her own embezzlement, where the owner was waiting with the books open.

Chapter 9 — The Truth Is Difficult to Hit

My wrist was still throbbing under the table, and I want to be plain about what I had done with that, because it matters.