Before I left the courthouse, Colin appeared with Isabelle Marsh hanging on his arm. She was the woman whose photographs I’d found on his phone. As they passed, Colin leaned toward me. “Try not to cry too hard, Nat. Some women simply don’t know how to keep a man.” Isabelle giggled. Instead of shrinking, I looked at him and said, “Some men don’t know how to read a bank statement.”

Hours later, Colin and Isabelle arrived at Halcyon House, an exclusive Toronto club, using my company’s corporate membership. They ordered oysters, Wagyu, vintage Bordeaux, expensive cocktails, and a private quartet. Then Isabelle spotted an emerald necklace priced at $410,000. Colin casually handed over my company’s matte-black corporate card. Four minutes later, the waiter returned looking uncomfortable. “Mr. Ashford, I’m sorry. The payment failed.” Colin demanded they run it again. They did. It failed again.