Elena, desperate to regain the upper hand, stepped closer, trying to tower over me.

“Daniel told me the divorce documents are already finalized. You’ll get the suburban house, maybe a modest monthly stipend to keep you quiet, and then you’ll quietly fade into obscurity where you belong.”

I tilted my head, studying her.

I almost admired the sheer, unadulterated audacity of her confidence.

Almost.

“Ah, yes. The divorce papers,” I mused, keeping my voice light and conversational.

“Are you referring to the specific set of documents he had his lawyers draft?

The ones that conveniently obscure the existence of his offshore Caymans accounts?