To see another woman go rigid at a husband’s touch and, this once, before it was too late, open her mouth.

I was, she told me, the reason she hadn’t let go yet.

I had been her unfinished sentence, and now she could finish it.

The trial ran fourteen months, and Devon’s lawyers tried to paint me as a bitter, hysterical wife who’d broken into his office — but the warrants made every photograph admissible, and the forensics pulled the drafted wills, the route logs, the tracker registration, and searches on his own hard drive that I will not repeat.

The frozen offshore money came home.

We cleared the debts his fraud had buried the company under, and saved the jobs of more than a hundred and twenty people.