The night before our divorce, my husband climbed into my bed after six months apart and whispered, “Just one last time.” I didn't say a word, but his phone lit up beside my pillow with a message: “Has she signed everything yet?” I quietly took a screenshot and called a lawyer, never imagining what our financial accounts were hiding.

Ten minutes turned into forty-five minutes.

While Joshua and his attorney were arguing fiercely behind closed doors down the corridor, I stood near the glass windows of the lobby, drinking a glass of water with Victoria and Arthur.

"He's bleeding out," Arthur whispered, checking his tablet. "His lawyer knows that if this deposition transcript hits a judge's desk, criminal referrals are inevitable."

The heavy wooden door opened, and Bradley Vance walked out alone. His jacket was unbuttoned, his tie slightly loosened, looking ten years older than he had an hour ago.

He walked straight up to Victoria and me.

"We want to talk settlement," Bradley said, his tone completely stripped of its former aggression. "Right now. Before we resume the deposition."

Victoria crossed her arms, a icy smile playing on her lips. "I'm listening, Bradley. But make it good. My billable hours are very expensive."

"Joshua is willing to sign over the Plymouth house entirely to Gretchen," Bradley proposed quickly, pointing his finger at the paper in his hand. "Free and clear. No mortgage liability. He will also agree to give her sixty percent of his liquid domestic accounts, pay $8,000 a month in child support for Maxine, and cover her legal fees. In exchange, Gretchen signs a full non-disclosure agreement and waives all future claims regarding The Solstice Foundation and foreign corporate entities."

It was an offer that would have made ninety percent of divorcing spouses jump for joy. A fully paid-off four-bedroom house in Plymouth worth $650,000, guaranteed child support, and hundreds of thousands in cash.

I looked at Victoria. She looked back at me, letting me make the call.

I stepped forward, looking Bradley straight in the eye.

"Where is Joshua?" I asked quietly.

"He's in the conference room," Bradley said.

I walked past him, pushed open the glass doors, and walked back into the conference room.

Joshua was sitting alone at the table, his head resting in his hands. Cheyenne was nowhere to be seen—she had quietly fled the building twenty minutes ago when she realized her luxury Naples condo was about to be seized by court order.

Joshua looked up when I entered. His eyes were red, his suit rumpled, looking pathetic and defeated.

"Gretchen," he pleaded, reaching out a trembling hand across the table. "Please. Think about what Bradley offered you. You'll be set for life. You can keep the house for Maxine. You won't ever have to work night shifts at the hospital again. Just sign the agreement and let this end."

I stood over him, looking down at the man I had loved for fourteen years.

"You sat in my bed four weeks ago, Joshua," I said, my voice quiet, steady, and razor-sharp. "You touched my hand and whispered 'just one last time' while your mistress was texting you to see if I had been successfully duped. You didn't care if Maxine and I were taken care of. You wanted to throw me into the street with scraps while you flew off to Naples with five million dollars."

"I made a mistake!" Joshua choked out, tears finally spilling down his cheeks. "I was stupid! Cheyenne manipulated me—"

"Cheyenne didn't forge those wire transfers for three years, Joshua," I interrupted coldly. "You did. Because you are greedy, arrogant, and selfish."