At my husband’s family’s most lavish dinner party, I was forced to pay an absurd bill, and then he told me, “I want a divorce.” An hour later, his desperate calls changed everything.

The rain in Boston was freezing as I walked aimlessly down the slick sidewalks, my mind a blur of anger and a strange, budding sense of relief. My phone began to vibrate in my pocket an hour later, starting with a call from Conrad, then Troy, and then the family’s private line.

I finally answered on the sixth ring, and the voice on the other end was no longer the arrogant man from the restaurant but a panicked stranger.

“Andrea, where are you? You need to get back to the Sapphire Room immediately because things have gone sideways.”

I stood under a bus stop overhang and told him that an hour ago he wanted me gone, so he shouldn’t sound so surprised that I actually left. Conrad didn’t answer, but I heard the phone being snatched away by Gladys, whose voice was shrill and bordering on hysterical.

“Get back here right now, Andrea, because agents from the Internal Revenue Service and the federal prosecutor’s office just walked in. they are asking about the subsidiary ledgers and every transaction from the last fiscal year, and they specifically mentioned your signatures.”