“You’re awake,” she said.
“So is Ronald.”
A pause.
“What happened?”
“He came to my door with Priscilla and a locksmith. Tried to drill the lock. Said he knows about the company.”
Marina went silent.
That frightened me more than any gasp would have.
Marina Shaw was my attorney, my strategist, and occasionally the only person in Miami whose calm was colder than mine. She had walked me through the divorce like a surgeon removing a tumor without nicking an artery.
“What exactly did he say?” she asked.
“He said he found the Nevada filings.”
Another pause.
Then the sound of typing.
“He shouldn’t have.”
“I know.”
“Those filings are sealed through the registered agent. Public-facing documents don’t connect cleanly to you.”
“They do if someone knows where to look.”
“Or if someone told him.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was again.
Someone.
“Marina.”
“I’m checking access logs.”
