For Seven Years I Sent Forty Thousand Dollars Every January, Until Emma Finally Spoke

“He’s terrified,” I said.

“He knows I saw the boat slip receipt.”

“He’s building a legal fortress,” Carl said.

“He wants to paint you as an unstable harasser before you can bring his financial records to light.”

I leaned forward and opened my top desk drawer.

I took out the folded paper Emma had given me on Sunday.

“I have this,” I said.

I handed Carl the crayon drawing of the blue yacht named Sea Star.