When he was blackout drunk on scotch after botching a pitch, I was the one who stayed up until dawn meticulously rewriting the contracts.

When his reckless spending threatened to capsize the firm, I was the phantom hand that mathematically corrected his disastrous fiscal projections.

When his board of directors began asking dangerous questions, I was the one who surgically cleaned the numbers to keep him out of prison.

Before I made the colossal mistake of marrying him, I was a senior forensic accountant for a ruthless auditing firm.

Daniel used to laugh with his friends and wave away my career, calling it “boring little calculator work.”

He was about to learn that my boring little calculator work was going to serve as his financial coffin.