case with a zip that sounded unexpectedly final.
By seven, I stood inside Prescott Global’s marble lobby with the luggage, badge, and a sealed envelope. Elise, the receptionist I’d spoken with at the Christmas party, stared in disbelief. Aaron probably had never learned her name.
“Mrs. Prescott?”
“These belong to my husband.”
Her gaze traveled uncertainly from the cases to the envelope and back.
“Would you like me to call upstairs?”
“No.”
I set the envelope on the larger suitcase.
“And this is a proposed divorce settlement. Please ask him
