Alina looked between the two of us, her eyes darting from Marcus’s tense jaw to the blue folder in my hands. “Marcus,” she said quietly, her voice dropping its artificial warmth. “What is she talking about?”

“Nothing,” Marcus said quickly, turning to her briefly before looking back at me. “She’s misinterpreting standard corporate structuring. It’s complicated.”

“It isn’t complicated at all,” I said, leaning back against the edge of the hallway table. “It’s quite simple, actually. You spent the last year diverting shared marital funds into a private holding account, artificially deflating the value of your business to make this settlement look fair on paper. You brought Alina here today hoping I would be too devastated to look past the front page.”

Marcus took a step forward, dropping the calm demeanor entirely. The polite veneer shattered, revealing the impatience beneath. “We built this life together, but I earned that money,” he said, his voice dropping into a harsh whisper. “You haven’t worked a corporate job in seven years.”

“I managed our life so you could build that business,” I replied calmly. “Every late night, every client dinner, every piece of paper you signed—I backed it up. And legally, every dollar earned during those eleven years belongs to both of us.”

I placed the folder back on the table and looked at both of them. Alina stood rigid, the illusion of a smooth, painless transition into her new life crumbling around her. Marcus remained silent, his eyes fixed on the blue folder that had suddenly transformed from a quick exit ticket into evidence of fraud.

“You can leave the agreement here,” I said softly, opening the front door and holding it wide. “My attorney will be in touch with yours by tomorrow morning. And Marcus—make sure he has the full account ledgers ready. It’s going to save everyone a lot of time.”