The question landed harder than any accusation. Adrian pushed his chair back. Standing during a difficult conversation had always given him control — people tended to hurry, to apologize, to grow nervous.

Lena calmly gathered the documents and slid them toward him.

“The house is yours,” she said. “The accounts you know about are yours. I won’t contest any of it.”

“The accounts I know about?”

She rose from the table. For seven years, Adrian had thought of his wife’s stillness as softness. Now, for the first time, he wondered whether it was discipline.

“What does that mean?” he asked.