Three days after an emergency C-section, my husband arrived with his assistant to force me to sign the divorce papers so he could keep our twin daughters.

And I knew him better than anyone.

Daniel never lost.

But this time… he didn’t understand the game.

I pulled out the folder.

Thin. Gray. Quiet.

I had started it months earlier—when the excuses began, when numbers didn’t add up, when money started disappearing.

Megan sat across from me.

“How much do you have?”

I opened it slowly.

“Enough.”

Emails.
Transfers.
Fake invoices.
Payments to shell companies.

And worst of all—

Signatures.