I’d suggest calling your lawyers in the morning. Both for the divorce, and for the indictment.”

I turned my gaze back to my husband. He was still frozen, staring at me as if seeing me for the first time. And perhaps he was. He was finally seeing the forensic investigator.

He was finally seeing the woman who didn’t just clean up messes, but catalogued them for prosecution.

I walked to the coat closet in the foyer and pulled out my trench coat and the overnight bag I’d packed hours earlier.

I paused at the front door and looked back at the wreckage of the Sterling family. Richard weeping over the financial documents. The sisters screaming at Daniel.

Vanessa frantically defending herself, covered in spilled wine. And above them all, the six-foot photograph, a permanent monument to their hubris.