A year after my wife died, I finally hired a crew to renovate her old office. The contractor called and said, “Sir, you need to come see what we found—but don’t come alone. Bring everyone.” When I got there, my heart almost gave out….

So did Emma, Detective Ortiz, Eugene Bell, Jillian Price, and two forensic accountants who walked the jury through the shell companies one transfer at a time.

The audio recordings were played in court.

Marcus sat there in a gray suit, taking notes as if he were attending a seminar instead of listening to the dead speak through files he had failed to find.

When the prosecutor played the recording in which he threatened my boys, Leo squeezed my hand so hard my fingers went numb.

Marcus did not look at us.

The defense tried exactly what Victoria predicted.

They claimed she was overwhelmed, confused, guilty of her own errors, emotionally unstable after years of pressure.

But the records were too clean, her notes too methodical, her timelines too precise.

She had done what accountants do best:

She had left a trail that made lies expensive.

The jury convicted him of murder and a stack of fraud-related charges so long the clerk needed extra time to read them.

Eugene Bell took a plea on reduced charges for cooperating.

Jillian kept her plea agreement.

Marcus got what remained of his life behind bars.

I thought the conviction would feel triumphant.

It did not.

It felt final.

Triumph is for games.