Eventually, we reached a settlement.
The judge finalized it on a rainy Thursday afternoon in downtown Chicago.
I thought the worst was over.
I was wrong.
Outside the courthouse, Brandon walked past me with Savannah holding his arm.
He stopped.
Smiled.
Then delivered one final insult.
“Don’t cry too hard, Elena. Some women just don’t know how to keep a man.”
Savannah laughed.
My face burned.
I didn’t answer.
My father did.
“Open every banking app you have.”
I looked at him.
“Dad—”
“Now.”
His tone startled me.
Dominic Rossi was seventy years old.
Retired.
Silver-haired.
The sort of man who preferred crossword puzzles, black coffee, and quiet conversations.
But before retirement, he’d spent thirty-one years investigating financial fraud.
He knew how people stole money.
He knew how they hid it.
And he knew what guilty people looked like when they believed they’d escaped consequences.
“Change every PIN,” he instructed. “Every password. Personal cards. The business cards. The travel cards. The emergency accounts. The firm’s corporate cards. All of them. And then call your bank and remove every authorized user.”
My stomach tightened.
“You think he’d actually try something?”
Dad looked toward the parking lot.
