Chapter 2Mother, Aged

The next morning, I checked my mobile banking app.

Every account in my name—salary, bonus, dividend—I tapped through them one by one. Each displayed the same insulting three-digit balance.

On the first of every month, every cent I earned was automatically swept into a single “Family Trust Fund” account managed exclusively by Chloe. Any payment from that fund required her digital signature.

I ordered breakfast delivery, only to find that my payment app had also been linked to her account. For any purchase over fifteen dollars, she received an alert.

A new message popped up on my screen. It was from her. “Just have the oatmeal and coffee for breakfast. The French cruller platter is $18. Both the calories and the price are excessive.”

I deleted the message. On the drive to the firm, I called my best friend, Marcus.

Marcus is a shark of a divorce attorney, all sharp angles and brutal efficiency. After hearing me out, he exploded.

“Are you fucking kidding me, David? You’re one of the best commercial litigators in the city, and you’re being played like this by a junior associate? What were you thinking when you signed that goddamn agreement? Did a donkey kick you in the head? That’s not a contract, it’s an indenture! If word of this gets out, you’ll be a laughingstock.”

I gave a bitter laugh. “I’d just made partner. I was drowning in work. She said she’d handle the finances so I could focus on my career. I didn’t think twice.”

“Bullshit! That’s not management; that’s legal fucking embezzlement!” Marcus swore, then his tone turned serious. “You didn’t keep anything on the side?”

“My equity, my stock options… it’s all in the trust for tax-sheltering purposes.”

“Then you go scorched-earth! Sue her! File for an emergency injunction to freeze the assets!”

I shook my head. “She’s smart. The agreement was notarized by the best contract lawyer at Sterling & Cole. The clauses are ironclad. If I file for divorce, the case will drag on for at least two years. In the meantime, every single asset will be frozen.” I let the reality of it sink in. “Two years, Marcus. My partnership, my equity distributions, my active cases… everything would be compromised.”

“So you’re just going to let her use your money to buy her mom a twenty-five-thousand-dollar purse while your own mother can’t afford an eight-hundred-dollar apartment?” he roared.

He paused, thinking. “Okay, if we can’t go through the front door, we’ll find a back one.” I could hear him typing. “I’m sending you a contact. Sofia. She used to be a forensic investigator specializing in financial crime. Now she runs her own consulting firm. She eats people like your wife for breakfast.”

“What can she do?”

“She has a saying,” Marcus said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “A balance sheet can be cooked, but greed always leaves a trail. She’s the best at following that trail right to the hole.”