Simons Island, where four moving trucks were already idling along the length of the drive.

Twelve uniformed movers were working through the front door under Priya’s sharp eye.

I sat in an armchair on the back patio with my daughter in my arms and watched them take the house apart around me — the leather chairs, the commissioned art, the wine, the imported rugs, all of it packed and carried out over the course of a single afternoon.

They even wheeled out the heavy wall safe from Roderick’s study, which I had emptied the week before of the ledgers that detailed his quiet offshore transfers.