"My husband brought his mother unannounced and forced me to wake up at 4:40 AM to prepare her oatmeal and meds.

My attorney's name was Patricia Hale.

I had used her twice before — once when my aunt's estate was settled, and once when Julian's company needed a contract reviewed and I had quietly insisted on independent counsel rather than using his firm's lawyer.

Julian had called that paranoid at the time.

Patricia picked up on the second ring.

"Claire." Her voice was alert despite the early hour.

"I was wondering when you'd call."

"You heard?"

"Julian's attorney contacted my office yesterday.

A man named Garrett Finch.

He's representing both Julian and Evelyn jointly, which tells you something."

I stood at Dana's kitchen window.

The street outside was still grey with early morning.

"What did he say?"

"He's claiming the red folder contains evidence of financial misconduct on your part.

Specifically, that you used a private inheritance account to exert undue financial control over Julian's business without his full knowledge or consent."

The words landed carefully, the way legal language always does — precise enough to sound reasonable, twisted just enough to mean something else entirely.

"That's not what the documents show," I said.

"I know it isn't.

I drafted two of those transfer agreements myself." A pause.

"But Garrett Finch is good at reframing.

He'll try to argue that the loans were actually a form of financial coercion.

That Julian felt pressured to accept terms he didn't fully understand."

"Julian has an MBA."

"I'm aware.

We'll make sure the court is too." Another pause.

"Claire, I need you to tell me everything that's in that folder.

Every document, every date, every amount.

And I need to know about Renata."

I told her.

All of it.

The dinner receipt.

The phone call.

Renata's voice in my house at eleven at night.

The way Julian had hesitated before saying her name.

Patricia listened without interrupting.

When I finished, she said, "How long do you think it's been going on?"

"I don't know.

At least fourteen months, based on the receipt.

Possibly longer."

"That matters for the financial picture.

If Julian was diverting company funds — funds you originally provided — to support a personal relationship, that changes the nature of the misconduct significantly."

"Can we prove it?"

"The company accounts are discoverable in a divorce proceeding.

If there are payments, transfers, or expenses that don't align with legitimate business activity, they'll surface." A brief silence.

"I'm going to need you to file first.

Before Garrett Finch gets ahead of this."

I watched a car pull slowly out of a driveway across the street.

"How soon?"

"Today, if possible.

This afternoon at the latest."

I thought about the house.

My aunt's house.

The one Julian had stood in that morning three days ago, pointing toward the kitchen as if he owned every room of it.

"Schedule it," I said.

"Already pulling up the paperwork." A keyboard in the background.

"One more thing.

You said Evelyn broke into the locked drawer."

"The lock was intact when I left.

She had to have forced it or used something to open it."

"Do you have any way to document that?

A photo of the drawer, the lock mechanism, anything?"

"I didn't think to photograph it before I left."

"That's all right.

We may not need it.

But if Julian tries to claim you left the folder accessible intentionally — as some kind of trap — it helps to have evidence of the forced entry." A pause.

"Is there anyone else who was in that house in the three days you were gone?

A neighbor, a delivery person, anyone who might have noticed something unusual?"

I thought about it.

Then I remembered.

"Mrs.

Alderman," I said.

"She lives next door.

She has a key for emergencies.

She waters my plants when we travel."

"Call her today.

Before you do anything else."

I said I would.

After I hung up, Dana set a cup of coffee in front of me without being asked.

She sat across the table and waited.

"Patricia's filing today," I said.

Dana wrapped both hands around her own mug.

"Good."

"Julian's going to lose his mind."

"Let him."

I looked at her.

"He's going to say I planned all of this.

That I set him up."

Dana met my eyes.

"Claire.

You packed a suitcase at five in the morning because your husband woke you up to make oatmeal for a woman who was wearing your robe." She set her mug down.

"Nobody planned that."

I almost smiled.

My phone lit up again.

Not Julian this time.

Evelyn.