My husband—unaware that I earned $4.2 million a year—shouted at me: “You sick psycho! I’ve already filed for divorce. Be out of my house by tomorrow.”

He laughed. “With what power? You have none.”

I almost smiled.

Because I did have power.

I simply hadn’t used it on him yet.

Three days later, I was in a hotel suite across town signing documents with Naomi when my phone lit up with Trent’s name.

His voice no longer sounded arrogant.

It sounded thin. Panicked.

“Listen,” he blurted. “We need to talk. Now.”

“No,” I said calmly.

Then he said the one sentence that made me sit up.

“They froze the accounts,” he whispered. “And there are people at the house.”