Mr. Thorne arrived in a dark suit and put the documents on the dining table. He saw the bandage on my arm, said nothing, and showed me where to sign.
My hand shook on the first page, so I braced my wrist against the table. Liquid assets. Stock portfolios. Controlling shares. I signed each transfer and the divorce petition.
“The final transfer is the offshore account.” Mr. Thorne tapped the account line. “It requires a dual-voice confirmation from his private bank.”
He looked at me. “They'll call him directly. There's no way around it.”
“They'll call me next.”
I put the burner phone on the table. “Adrian told the bank to use me for secondary approval whenever he was unreachable during a critical transaction. He thought the privilege would keep me happy.”
Thirty seconds later, the phon
