Rothwell Global Enterprises was not a vendor.

It was not a caterer or a venue or a florist that happened to share a name with my problem.

It had received, over the final eighteen months of my marriage, more than four hundred and twenty thousand dollars — money that had originated inside the trust my grandmother built to manage three rental properties and two commercial buildings, an estate she had spent decades assembling so that I would always have ground of my own to stand on.

During the worst of my fertility treatments, when I was exhausted and grieving and could barely manage my own appointments, Damon had been granted limited authority to handle property expenses on my behalf.