Inside were divorce papers, already signed by me. A copy of Howard’s forensic report. A formal letter from my bank withdrawing my personal guarantee on the catering company’s line of credit. A notice of default on Eleanor’s house, because she’d let the insurance lapse and hadn’t paid her taxes in two years, exactly as the agreement she’d signed said she couldn’t.
Ezoic
And one more thing.
A printed still frame from my office camera. Richard, at midnight, in his bathrobe, kneeling by my desk, photographing the card that held my banking credentials.
I’d arranged with Nina’s office to have a process server arrive at the lake at four that afternoon. I’d told the bank to freeze everything at noon. I’d booked nothing. I didn’t know yet whether I’d need to run.
Part of me, even that morning, was still hoping I wouldn’t.
