POLICE CAME TO MY DOOR BECAUSE MY HUSBAND’S CAR CRASHED WITH $500K. HE CLAIMED HE WAS FRAMED, UNTIL I FOUND OUT MY PREGNANT SISTER WAS THE DRIVER.

The next morning, before I could even formulate a plan, I was ambushed. I was walking out of a coffee shop when a man in a cheap suit stepped in front of me and slammed a thick stack of papers against my chest. "Claire Evans? You’ve been served." I dropped my coffee. They were divorce papers, but they were accompanied by an emergency ex-parte restraining order. I flipped through the legal jargon, my blood boiling. Liam had filed an affidavit claiming that I suffered from a severe, untreated gambling addiction and bipolar disorder. He claimed I had secretly remortgaged the house and lost all our money to illegal bookies. He stated he feared for his life and requested the court freeze what little assets we had left and ban me from coming within 500 feet of his hospital. He was legally boxing me in, framing me for his own financial crimes so that no one would believe me when I told the truth. I was legally barred from my own husband. I drove back to the cheap motel I had moved into, feeling completely suffocated. As I aggressively unzipped my suitcase to grab a change of clothes, I knocked over an old, beat-up college backpack of Liam’s that I had accidentally grabbed when packing in the dark. A small, black USB drive clattered onto the cheap carpet. It had been wedged deep inside a torn lining. I stared at it. Liam was meticulous. He never left digital footprints. Why hide a flash drive in a decade-old bag? I plugged it into my laptop. The folder was password protected. I tried his birthday, our anniversary, his mother's maiden name. Nothing. Finally, I typed in a word I had seen in Russo’s report: VANCE2024. The folder unlocked.