I had built a career on the specific arrogance of people who believe that because a thing is hidden, it is safe.

And I had just married one of them without realizing it.

That night, while Damon slept the easy sleep of a man who thought he’d settled something, I sat down at the kitchen island where he’d delivered his little verdict, and I opened our financial records.

Not in anger.

In the calm, methodical frame of mind I’d spent eight years living inside — the one where you neither hope nor dread, you just follow the money and let it tell you what it wants to tell you.

It told me plenty.