“If you need help bringing him down,” she whispered, wiping her nose, “use this.

I packed my bags the day we got back from the honeymoon. I moved out, and I took copies of everything.”

I opened the envelope. Inside were printed text threads, offshore banking receipts, and a small USB flash drive.

“There’s a voice memo on that drive,” Chloe said, her eyes dark with disgust. “He left it on my phone by mistake while he was drunk at the resort bar. Burn him to the ground, Mrs. Hayes.”

The voice memo on the USB drive was the golden bullet.

David and I sat in my hotel room, listening to the audio file on my laptop. Against a backdrop of crashing ocean waves and steel-drum music in the Bahamas, Greg’s slurred, arrogant voice echoed from the speakers.

“Don’t worry about the credit card bill, babe,” Greg laughed drunkenly on the recording. “Once Sarah’s policy clears hospice this week, we’ll be sitting on half a mil.