“You’re asking me,” he said over lunch at a private club she hadn’t entered in years, “to determine whether your husband has stolen from a company he does not realize you still legally control.”
“I’m asking you to tell me whether what I’m seeing is enough to move.”
He buttered bread with excruciating care. “And if it is?”
She thought of the boys sleeping with their limbs thrown over each other like mirrored sentences. “Then I need to make sure he cannot take them.”
Martin’s eyes sharpened. “Has he threatened that?”
“Not directly.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
She met his gaze. “Yes.”