“Ask for every last thing.” I glanced at the notary copy on the desk.

“And print out the notary page.

The one without a thumbprint.”

Nicole typed.

“You think Sterling knows about it?”

“I think Sterling is about to wave that page around in court and call it clean.”

The printer pulled the sheet through, and I snatched it up before the ink had a chance to cool.

The printout was still warm in my hand when Wyatt texted me the name of a restaurant in New Canaan, the one with the ivy climbing over the patio and a wine list longer than the lunch menu.