For a moment, Imani thought that Philip was going to scream again about her being ridiculous or needing to let the police do their jobs. As her words sank in, however, some of the blood receded from his face. He finally copied Imani’s exhale.

“What do you want to do?”

CHAPTER FORTY

TONYA

Feelings were the world’s best photo filter. How else could Tonya explain the difference between how she’d once seen the man across from her and how she viewed him now? He was older, of course. The near-dozen years that had passed since she’d been with him were visible in the once-faint lines that now bled into his cheeks. But a few more wrinkles couldn’t account for all the physical attributes that she’d once found attractive now appearing offensive. The perma-tanned skin that she’d considered a mark of success—of a career that followed the sun—now looked fake and vain. His army-style haircut was an effort to stave off balding rather than evidence of a man too masculine and practical to primp. The button-down shirt, unbuttoned one notch too many, wasn’t sexy but trying too hard.

“So, as we were saying, the new account needs to operate differently.”

Glen Kelner adjusted his face mask, perhaps to draw Tonya’s attention from Layla’s father to the matter at hand. In person, Kelner was far less intimidating than on the phone. He had receding mousy brown hair and a weak chin that faded into his neck. His rumpled suit only added to the feeble impression. Looks weren’t everything, of course. Still, seeing him, Tonya was annoyed that she’d let herself be bullied by a guy who didn’t look the part of power player.

“It should be a custodial account in Layla’s name operated by a fiduciary, namely myself. Mr. Redsell will fund the account in a similar manner. And the rent will be paid through direct withdrawals to…”

Kelner’s words melded together into an unintelligible drone. The lawyer might as well have been reading a manual on how to assemble a blender or the fine print of a lengthy phone service contract. Tonya couldn’t pay attention to the speech—not when she was finally in a room with the man she’d hated for so long who, ironically, also possessed features of the person she loved most in life. Layla had inherited her biological father’s smoky blue eyes. Her nose, too, was a paternal hand-me-down with its upturned tip that called for kisses. Tonya had pecked that nose so often when Layla was a child. So strange to want to break it on the thinly masked face across from her.

“You’re getting divorced.” Tonya’s interruption was the equivalent of pulling a power cord, cutting off the background buzz of Kelner’s voice.