Resolutions.

She also asked a forensic consultant to look at the timestamps from my banking alerts and home network logs.

At the same time, with my permission, she contacted Bright Harbor’s general counsel.

That call changed everything.

The envelope I’d seen in the rain, it turned out, likely contained internal compensation documents Graham had no right to use.

My annual bonus projections.

Deferred compensation schedules.

Partnership-track materials.

None of them were guaranteed, and none of them were public.

But if a spouse wanted to make it seem as though a large payout was imminent, those papers were perfect bait.

Bright Harbor’s counsel was not calm about it.

“If those documents were accessed or copied without authorization,” he told Dana on speaker, “we will treat that as misuse of proprietary information.”

When Dana hung up, she looked at me over her glasses.

“He’s not just trying to divide what exists,” she said.

“He’s trying to inflate what he thinks he can claim.”

The mediation conference took place three days later in Uptown.

The room was too cold and too bright, the kind of corporate chill that makes every cup of coffee taste thinner.

Graham was already seated when Dana and I walked in.

He wore a navy suit I had bought him for an awards dinner the year before.

It still fit.

His lawyer, a polished woman with pearl studs and a neutral smile, began exactly the way people like her always begin.

Fairness.

Transparency.

Simplicity.

Marriage as partnership.

Assets as shared effort.

I let her talk until the room settled into the rhythm she wanted.

Then Dana placed a binder on the table with a steady, deliberate sound and slid copies to the mediator and opposing counsel.

“Before we discuss percentages,” she said, “we need to discuss categories.”

Graham looked down at the binder the way people look at medical test results before they open them.

Dana tapped the first tab.

“Your emergency motion was filed on the eighteenth.

My client’s separate-property transfers were finalized on the fifteenth.

The underlying funds are traceable to premarital and inherited sources.

We have the chain.”

The mediator read in silence for a moment and nodded once.

Opposing counsel shifted.

“Even if that’s true, there are still concerns about anticipated compensation and—”

Dana turned the page.

“That brings us to Harbor Bridge Resolutions.”

For the first time, Graham lost color.

Dana slid an invoice across the table.

“HBR Consult was not a banking anomaly.

It was an LLC registered six months ago to Mara Bennett.

These payments were made from the joint account.”

Graham’s lawyer reached for the invoice so quickly she nearly knocked her pen over.

“Mediation support is not improper,” she said carefully.

“No,” Dana replied.

“It isn’t.

Coaching a spouse to obtain a rushed signature on a transmutation document, funded from joint assets, while using confidential compensation materials taken from the other spouse’s employer is something else.”

The mediator’s gaze lifted from the page and landed on Graham.

I watched his throat move.

Dana opened the next tab and laid one of my rain-soaked photographs on the table.

Graham under the awning.

Mara opening the envelope.

The blue lighthouse logo visible in the corner.

“That logo belongs to Bright Harbor Advisory,” Dana said.

“My client’s employer.

We asked their general counsel