Five minutes after my divorce was final, my father gripped my arm outside the courthouse and said, “Block every card, right now.” That night my ex tried to spend $300,000 on his mistress’s sapphire necklace with my company’s black card — in a club my firm owned.

So I sat on a cold metal bench outside the Daley Center.

My hands shook.

One account.

Then another.

Then another.

I removed authorized users.

I blocked access.

I locked the company cards, all six of them, including the black corporate card that lived in a drawer in my office and that Trevor, I realized as I froze it, still had the number of, because in 2021 I’d let him book a client dinner on it and he’d saved it to his phone and I’d never thought about it again.

I froze everything.

Trevor walked past me a second time, on his way to the Escalade.

“You’re being ridiculous, Mari.”

I looked up.

“And you’re being awfully confident, Trevor.”

For a split second something flickered in his eyes.

Then it was gone.

My father watched him go.

“He’s got a card number,” Dad said. “Didn’t he.”

“The black one. From 2021.”

“Is it frozen?”