I stared at the black ink of the judge’s signature, my mind racing through the numbers of my payroll.
“I have forty-eight thousand dollars in outstanding invoices due to my field crew on Friday,” I said.
“You cannot pay them from the corporate account,” Julian said. “Arthur Vance’s attorney argued that you are shifting assets to avoid a judgment.”
“My personal account is still open,” I said, looking for any loophole.
“That will cover your mortgage and Maya’s medical bills for maybe three weeks,” Julian said. “But your professional standing is going to take a massive hit if we do not clear this up immediately.”
He turned his laptop screen toward me, displaying the local news page that the reporter had shown me earlier.
The unedited video of my mother crying on her sofa had been spliced with footage of our Park Slope apartment building.
“We need to find out exactly why Mark is pushing this so hard,” I said, rubbing my wedding ring again. “He knows the police are already looking at his fake subcontracts.”
