He was still smiling when he held the door open for Sophie like a man arriving at an awards ceremony instead of a divorce hearing.
Everything about him radiated certainty.
The tailored charcoal suit.
The thousand-dollar shoes.
The Rolex glinting beneath his cuff.
The easy confidence of a man who had spent fifteen years believing money could bend reality around him.
And for most of our marriage, it had.
I followed Mr. Whitman quietly to our table while Kevin’s attorney—a sleek, silver-haired litigator named Denise Corbett—organized stacks of expensive binders across the opposite side like she was preparing for surgery.
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