Mark went pale.
“You contacted my company?”
“No,” I said.
“Your own records did.”
His attorney removed his glasses.
For the first time in months, Mark looked directly at me instead of through me.
“What do you want?”
“An honest divorce.”
He laughed nervously.
“You moved into a one-bedroom apartment.”
Then he gestured toward me.
“Stop pretending you have leverage.”
Rachel looked at me.
I nodded.
She opened the third folder.
Inside was a copy of the validated lottery claim.
Mark stared at the page.
His eyes stopped on the number.
Vanessa leaned forward.
“Seventy-three million?”
Nobody spoke.
Then Mark looked at me.
“You won?”
“The night before you came home.”
His expression changed several times in seconds.
Shock.
Calculation.
Then suddenly, tenderness.
“Claire.”
He leaned toward me.
“Listen, I made a mistake.”
Vanessa turned sharply.
“A mistake?”
Mark ignored her.
“We can fix this.”
I thought about every bill I had paid.
