This one goes to Atlanta. To the bar association, two regulatory contacts, and a prosecutor my attorney described as serious, discreet, and very hard to buy.
This file includes the audio from Nathan’s home office—the one where he told Serena my signature “would pass if nobody made noise.”
I listened to it once.
Once was enough.
In the recording, Serena laughed and asked, “And your wife?”
Nathan answered, “Caroline will sign anything once she’s scared enough.”
Ethan pulls into the underground garage of a private condo north of Seabrook. It belongs to his cousin, a woman who owes him a favor and asks no questions. When I step out, my knees feel suddenly old.
My phone rings again.
Nathan’s mother.
I let it go.
The elevator doors close, and for the first time since I placed my wedding ring on that glass table, there is no music, no champagne, no fake laughter. Only the hum of machinery carrying me upward.
I look at my bare finger and feel the ghost weight of gold.
Inside the condo, my attorney is already waiting.