It didn’t last long. It was two in the afternoon, about an hour until shift change. A patient had been discharged and the room was ready for a terminal cleaning. Emma got her cart, mop, linens, gloves and went to the room. Standing there beside the now empty bed in a room with no other patients was Clarice.

 “How much do you have stashed away?” she asked, her voice hard.

 “What?”

 “You heard me. How much do you have stashed away? Enough to take care of my elderly mother? Because Hugh and I can’t afford her and she has to live with us now since her entire savings was stolen.”

 “What are you talking about?” Emma asked, fearing she knew.

 “I know who you are, Mrs. Compton. We all know who you are. My mother’s name is Roberta Sinclair and you took everything she had and I think you can find a way to get it back.”

 Oh, no! Even though she’d been over every possible scenario, now Emma didn’t know what to say. She just shook her head. “There’s nothing,” she said. “I have nothing.”

 “You have assets in your name,” Clarice insisted.

 Emma shook her head again. “There’s nothing in my name. Everything was in Richard’s name and the few things that weren’t, I surrendered. All our possessions were auctioned—I surrendered those, as well. Do you honestly think I’d be scrubbing floors in a hospital if I had anything?”

 “For a while, yes,” she said. “You’ll lie low for a while, then when the talk has died off, you’ll tap into your hidden money. I read the book!”

 “The books are wrong! The internet is wrong! Everything is gone—my wedding ring, my wedding gown, wedding gifts—I gave it all back. I’m not lying low—I’m using my legal name. I haven’t even colored my hair! I didn’t know what was going on, Clarice. I had nothing to do with Richard’s business.”

 “What about offshore money? One of the books says he was about to give the SEC account numbers when—”

 “Gone. He was trying to negotiate a smaller sentence, but... There’s nothing that I know of, nothing left to me, I swear.”

 “The book says you retained 1.4 million and a lot of valuable property...”

 She was getting dizzy, shaking her head. “I kept a few thousand so I could drive back here and rent a small space. The US Marshals sold everything at auction. Everything. I kept some sheets and towels, a few dishes and pots. I gave most of my clothing to women’s shelters. There’s nothing. Do you think I want to be tied to that hideous crime? I was told that investors got roughly thirty-two cents on the dollar. I couldn’t do anything more.”

 “You’re lying,” Clarice said. “You had lawyers! My mother didn’t have a lawyer, she couldn’t afford one! And she didn’t get that much. She borrowed against her house to invest with Compton!”

 That was not exactly how it worked, as Emma knew from the trial. Richard Compton worked with a number of financial managers and brokers who represented smaller investors, and it was they who invested in his company. Richard didn’t talk anyone into mortgaging their house; he talked hedge fund managers into investing with him and he neither knew nor cared where they got their money. Large sums. Many collections of smaller investors. Richard was big-time. He had a minimum requirement, probably a hundred times the value of Mrs. Sinclair’s mortgage.

 “My lawyer was assigned by the court and he wanted me to keep enough to live on since finding work would be hard, but I didn’t keep anything. I’m sorry,” Emma said. “I’m so sorry. I would never have let something like that happen if there was anything I could do to prevent it.”

 “You’re lying!”

 Clarice picked up a bedpan that sat on the now vacant bed and hurled it at her. Emma blocked the missile with her forearms but that did little good. The damn thing was full. Since she knew the patient just discharged was ambulatory, Clarice must have looked high and low through the whole ward for just the right bedpan. Or more likely, she emptied catheter bags into one. The splatter threw Emma off balance. She stumbled backward, hit her tailbone on the pail on her way down and cracked her head on the metal door handle. She was covered in the filth.

 When she tried to stand, the world was spinning and she ended up scooting across the floor, escaping out of the room into the hallway.

 “Oh, my God,” one of the other housekeepers said, running to her. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

 Clarice walked out of the patient room and, lifting her chin in the air, walked past Emma. She went down the hall to the nursing station.

 “Can you get up?” the other housekeeper asked.

 “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Ugh. Oh, God, this is awful.”

 “How did this happen?”

 “She threw a bedpan at me. Apparently she was swindled by... My late husband was guilty of... But I didn’t know,” she said, turning imploring eyes to her friend. “I swear I didn’t. I would never. And he’s dead now.”

 Two of the RNs on staff came running down the hall. One said, “Dear God.” The other one said, “Clarice has lost her mind.” They tried to get Emma on her feet but when she swayed and threatened to fall again, they went for a wheelchair and took her to the ER. She tried to briefly explain the problem, but it didn’t come out well. She tried to tell them she’d been married to a bad man, a thief, but she didn’t know it and it seems Clarice was one of his victims but Emma didn’t know...

 I should have done something, she thought. I should have done something when I wondered why lawyers negotiated our prenup but Richard had hired both of them. I should have asked questions when this fabulously wealthy man wanted to marry me, but I didn’t! I should have done something when the SEC started investigating him. I should have looked through his papers or found a way to hack his computer when I realized something was wrong, but I didn’t know. I should have known. How could I not have known? I should have talked to the people who worked for him, the people who eventually testified against him. I should have found out how they were going to carry on—they got deals from the prosecutors. Everyone got deals—even his mistress!