The afternoon sun was high when I reached the third floor of the brick building overlooking the town square. The law firm lobby smelled of lemon polish and expensive carpet.
Julian was already sitting on the leather sofa, his knees spread wide. He was thirty-six, wearing a gray suit that looked slightly too big for him now, his face thinner than it had been when he left. The moment I walked through the heavy glass door, he checked his silver watch.
“You are late,” Julian said, his voice carrying that rapid, defensive rhythm I knew too well.
“The bus was slow,” I said. I sat on the chair opposite him, keeping my purse on my lap. “We need to talk about the joint account before we go inside to see the lawyer.”
“There is nothing to talk about, Cara,” he said, shifting his weight. “The money is gone. We both signed the papers when we opened the business.”
