“I’m her husband,” he kept saying.

“I don’t need her permission.” Then he noticed the small recorder on the desk, its red light glowing, and he froze.

I took out my phone.

“Listen to this.” I played the diner recording — Brenda’s voice, then Derek’s own, arrogantly declaring he needed no one’s permission to spend a single penny.

“That proves nothing in court,” Derek said, his face going pale.

“You’re right,” Sam agreed pleasantly.