“My stomach feels tight, Mom,” he said, looking down at his sneakers.
“I know,” I said. “We have the evaluation after school on Tuesday, Toby. Your teacher just wants to see how you read.”
He twirled the strap of his bag. “Will Dad be there?”
“Dad has to travel for New York,” I said, opening the door for him. “But I will be right outside the room.”
He climbed in, his small frame almost lost in the leather seat. I buckled him in and closed the door with a quiet click.
Two hours later, I sat at Clara’s kitchen table. The smell of cinnamon toast filled the room, but the plate between us was untouched. Clara, my sister, wrung her hands in her lap, her face pale in the morning light.
“He is already moving the money, Emma, you have to open your eyes,” Clara said, her voice rising.
“We are trying to keep things quiet,” I said. I touched my silver wedding band, sliding it up to my knuckle and back down.
“Quiet will leave you on the street,” she said, leaning forward. “You need an aggressive lawyer who will tear him apart. He has the corporate accounts, the investments, the property.”
