I went to the hidden safe in my closet. Behind jewelry I’d never cared about and handbags I’d never loved sat a black carry-on I’d packed three months earlier.

Passports. Contracts. Bank records. Two encrypted phones.

I changed into black jeans, a sweater, and sneakers. No diamonds. Nothing that still belonged to Mrs. Sterling.

Downstairs, Julian’s collection of exotic cars gleamed under the garage lights. I ignored the Ferrari. I ignored the Aston Martin. I took the black Range Rover registered under one of Julian’s shell companies.

The irony almost made me smile.

By 4:00 a.m. I was driving through empty Los Angeles streets toward LAX while the city slept. On one of the encrypted phones, I sent a single text to my attorney.