Diane sent fourteen.

Grant sent none.

Brooke sent one.

I did not open any of them at first.

I called my attorney instead.

Her name was Naomi Shaw.

She had handled the purchase of the penthouse years earlier, then updated my estate documents after I got pregnant.

She answered on the fourth ring with a rough, sleepy voice.

“Claire?”

“I need a divorce attorney, a criminal referral, and someone who can make sure Ryan’s family cannot get into my apartment.”

She was awake by the end of the sentence.

“Are you safe?”

“I’m at St. Joseph.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Yes.”

A long silence followed.

“Tell me what happened.”

I did.

Naomi did not interrupt until I mentioned Grant ordering me out.

“He knows the property is yours, right?”

“Apparently none of them care.”

“Claire, listen to me carefully. Do not go back alone. Do not transfer money. Do not sign anything. Do not delete a single message. I am calling someone now.”

“Okay.”

“And change every password you have from a device Ryan has never touched.”

That instruction made my pulse jump.

“Why?”

“Because people who feel entitled to your home often feel entitled to everything else.”

I looked at the phone in my hand.

Ryan knew the passcode to my old tablet.

He knew where I stored our tax returns.

He had access to one household account.

He knew enough about my work travel to guess security answers if I had been careless.

I began changing passwords before Naomi finished speaking.

At five twelve, a new email arrived from my bank.

SUBJECT: SECURITY ALERT – NEW DEVICE LOGIN.

The login had happened twelve minutes earlier.

From my penthouse.

I sat upright.

The nurse hurried in when the fetal monitor shifted.

I opened my banking app.

My personal savings account was untouched.

My investment account was untouched.

Then I opened the household operating account I had funded every month for utilities, groceries, building fees, and shared expenses.

The balance was nearly zero.

$184,620 had been transferred out in four transactions.

All four went to an account I did not recognize.

My hands began shaking again.

A text from Ryan arrived at the same moment.

YOU DID THIS TO US.

Then another.

DON’T MAKE IT WORSE.

Then Brooke’s single unread message moved to the top of my screen.

I opened it.

There were only six words.

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