Chapter 4

I didn’t sleep all night.

I spread everything from the safe across the table and went through it, piece by piece.

The USB drive contained three folders.

The first: complete technical files for the two licensed formulas.

The second: experimental data for the two unreleased formulas.

The third: a recording.

I put on my headphones and clicked play.

It was my mother’s voice.

“Astrid, I’m recording this on my sixty-third birthday.”

“I know Marco, and I don’t trust him.”

“The first time he came to our house for dinner, his eyes kept drifting toward the study.”

“He asked three separate times where you kept your patent certificates.”

“That’s when I remembered him.”

“Later, when you said you wanted to license the formulas to his company, I didn’t stop you.”

“But I had David add one clause—the right of unilateral termination.”

“Marco would never bother to read the fine print. I’ve seen his type before.”

“I didn’t tell you about the other two formulas because I was afraid you’d go soft and give him everything.”

“If you’re hearing this recording, it means things have gone this far.”

“Don’t cry.”

“Go do what you have to do.”

The recording ended.

I took off the headphones.

I didn’t cry.

My mother had told me not to.

By morning, the sky had lightened.

I washed my face and looked in the mirror.

The swelling on my left cheek had gone down a little. The bruising on the right was still a deep, ugly purple.

The cut on my lip had scabbed over.

There were forty-seven missed calls and texts on my phone.

All from Marco.

The first one: *Where are you? Stop being ridiculous.*

One from the middle of the night: *Astrid, if you don’t come back now, don’t blame me for what happens next.*

The last one had arrived at three in the morning:

*Babe, I thought about it, and I was wrong yesterday too.*

*Come back. I’ll have Francesca apologize to you tomorrow.*

Even now, he thought a simple apology could fix this.

I didn’t reply.

I took screenshots of the call log and saved them in a new folder.

Then I found our marriage certificate, a copy of the patent license agreement, and photographed the four formula files my mother had left behind.

I sent everything to David.

His reply came almost immediately:

*Received. The revocation notice will be delivered to Marco’s company at ten a.m. It will take formal effect in forty-eight hours.*

I set my phone down.

I went into the kitchen and made myself a plate of pasta.

Then I sat down