“I’m here on behalf of my client,” Blackwood muttered, his tone flat and unreadable. He unclipped his leather briefcase, reached inside, and pulled out a thick, heavy manila envelope.

“Client?” I echoed, forcing a hollow laugh. I shrugged, trying to project a clueless, unbothered front. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Your wife, Mrs. Sterling,” Blackwood responded smoothly. He took two steps forward and dropped the heavy envelope onto the center of my mahogany desk. It landed with a definitive, suffocating thud. “Here it is. You’ve been officially served.”

I swallowed the dry lump in my throat, my hand shaking slightly as I reached out to...