“No. She visited me. I say she was my friend, but…she was over ten years older than me. She stayed with us when she did a study-abroad as a college student. My dad is a professor. Over the years, we had a lot of exchange students. But Cassandra and I bonded. Kept in touch. She brought Sophia to London once, and I met up with them.”

“When was the last time you saw Cassandra?”

“Probably four years ago. It was after their divorce.”

“They divorced?”

“Yeah.”

A lot of military guys divorced. But Sullivan clenched his hand when I asked about Sophia’s mother. My interpretation of his reaction was that the topic was emotional or difficult for him.

“Was it a bad divorce?”

Static crosses the line, but I can hear her exhale. I glance sideways. Is she emotional?

“Is there a good kind?”

“I suppose not. I just mean, did they fight? Or was it public?”

“I think as far as divorces go, it ranked as proper. Cassandra said she’d always expected they’d divorce before the ten-year mark.”

“Why?” Ten is a random number.

“In California, after ten years, you split the estate if there’s a divorce.”

“That’s right. He said something about that.” His father had been livid about the marriage.

“Yep.” She smiles. Dr. Rolfe is a moderately attractive woman, but when she smiles, the needle moves considerably higher. “They eloped. I got the sense his family did not approve. I mean, they liked Cassandra. But his father believed in prenuptial agreements.”

Based on my research, Sullivan’s estimated net worth is approximately $950,000,000. I’d expect his father did believe in prenups.

“So, they divorced before the ten-year mark. Did she get a good settlement?”

“If the hotel suite she booked at Savoy is any indication, she wasn’t wanting for anything. But she never said. And I would never ask.” She sounds affronted. “How would you even ask someone that? How much money did you get?”

“Without a doubt, there are articles out there with mentions of the divorce settlement.”

“I’m sure, but that doesn’t mean I need to ask.” She kicks her long legs in front of her, stretching them out. If she were wearing a mini-skirt, I would have an incredible view of long, endless legs.

The thought comes out of nowhere. She’s potentially Sullivan’s love interest. I redirect my attention to the control panel. We lapse back into silence. I begin a mental lap of the information we need.

“How did Cassandra die?”

“A car hit her at an intersection. Thirty-four years old.” She clucks her tongue. “It was by chance Sophia wasn’t with her. And, yes, they were divorced, but her death hit Jack hard. He cried at the funeral. At the reception afterward, he excused himself. You could see the tears welling up. They may have divorced, but he cared.” Her assessment matches what I picked up earlier.

“How did Sophia handle it?”

“How would any twelve-year-old girl handle the loss of her mother?”