All of it was visible now, and in a divorce, visible is what matters.

The court credited the dissipated funds back to my side of the ledger.

Vaughan’s lawyer, once he understood how thoroughly the money had been mapped, stopped fighting the numbers and started asking about settlement.

My home design studio — the thing I had built alone, the thing he had never once helped with and now, tellingly, wanted a share of — stayed entirely mine, protected by the very records he’d assumed I was too trusting to keep.

And Anwen stayed with me, primarily and without a real contest, because a man arranging a Miami getaway on the morning of a fake conference does not have much of a case to make about stability.

Vaughan did not end up ruined in the way people might hope for at the end of a story like this.