“He is mistaken,” I said.

A steady evening rain was beating against Marcus Vance’s office window when the mantel clock struck six.

The thick leather evidence binder lay open on the desk between us, filled with two hundred pages of sworn affidavits, medical evaluations, and audited bank logs.

Marcus unscrewed the brass cap of his fountain pen and slid the document toward my side of the desk.

“Once I enter this affidavit into the court record tomorrow morning, there’s no pulling it back, Claire,” Marcus said quietly.