He had simply arranged for me to be looking somewhere else — at Nathan, at my crumbling marriage, at the fragile-wife trap closing around me — while he emptied the foundations.

He had even, I would learn, supplied the forged papers to Nathan himself, feeding my husband’s greed on purpose, because a wife fighting for her life against her own husband is a wife who is not auditing her trust.

I have thought a great deal about the difference between Nathan and Charles, because it is the difference between the kind of danger you can see and the kind you cannot, and almost everyone fears the wrong one.

Nathan’s kind is loud.