He didn't reply to the message that night.

He didn't reply the next morning either, when a second one arrived.

*Daniel.

I'm serious.

Call me.*

He made coffee.

He read through every transfer receipt he had printed and kept in a folder at the back of his filing cabinet — not because he had expected to need them, but because he was the kind of man who kept records.

He laid them out on the kitchen table in date order and photographed each one with his phone.

Then he photographed the bank statement Lily had found and emailed everything to Marcus before eight in the morning.

Marcus replied within the hour.

*Good.

Don't engage with her.

See you Monday.*

The weekend was the longest he could remember.

He took Lily to the park on Saturday — it was his weekend, and he was not going to waste it sitting with his jaw tight and his phone face-up on the table.

She ran ahead of him on the path, silver stars catching the light, and he watched her and felt something settle in his chest that was not peace exactly but was close enough to function.

Sunday evening, he dropped her back.

Diane met him at the door again.

This time her mother was visible in the hallway behind her, arms folded, watching him with an expression he recognised from the last year of the marriage.

"We should talk," Diane said.

Quieter than the texts.

More careful.

"I'll be in touch through Marcus," he said.

Her face changed.

"You've spoken to your solicitor."

"Goodbye, Diane."

"Daniel." Her voice sharpened.

"Whatever you think you've found — you don't understand the full picture.

That account was for emergencies.

For Lily.

I was protecting it."

He looked at her.

"From who?"

She opened her mouth.

Closed it.

"From me?" he said.

"You were protecting Lily's money from her father by cashing it out every month and spending it on yourself?"

"That is not what happened."

"Then explain the withdrawals."

Her mother stepped forward from the hallway.

"You don't get to come to this door and interrogate my daughter."

"I'm not interrogating anyone," he said.

"I'm picking up my child and going home."

"You'll regret making this into something it isn't," the mother said.

"Diane has been raising that girl alone while you send a bank transfer once a month and call it parenting."

He didn't answer her.

He looked at Diane.

"Monday," he said.

"Marcus will be in touch."

He walked back to his car.

He heard the door close hard behind him.

His phone rang before he reached the end of the road.

Unknown number.

He let it ring out.

A voicemail arrived thirty seconds later.

He played it at a red light.

A man's voice.

Calm, practiced, faintly threatening.

*Mr.

Calloway.

My name is Robert Hale.

I'm a family law solicitor acting on behalf of Diane Marsh.

I'd encourage you to speak with your own legal representative before taking any action that could be seen as harassment or financial intimidation.

I'll be in contact with your solicitor's office first thing Monday morning.*

He set the phone down.

She had hired someone over the weekend.

Which meant she had known this moment was coming long before Lily reached into that drawer.