Chapter 6 - The Paperwork War
On Monday morning, the legal storm officially broke.
I arrived at Evelyn Vance’s office in downtown Portland at 9:00 AM. Evelyn was a sharp, impeccably dressed woman in her late fifties, with gray hair cut into a precise bob and eyes that could pierce through sheet metal. She had spent thirty years dismantling arrogant men in divorce courts, and she looked at my case like a master chef looking at a prime cut of steak.
"The process server confirmed the ejection went smoothly on Saturday," Evelyn said, sliding a thick folder across her glass desk. "Grant tried calling my office six times this morning before we even opened. He’s panicked, Tessa. Which is exactly where we want him."
"What’s the next step?" I asked, sipping my coffee.
"Today, we file the formal petition for dissolution of marriage," Evelyn explained, tapping the top page. "Because of the way your grandmother structured your inheritance, the Newport house is 100% safe. He can't touch it. However, he is going to try to claim that your salary and financial assets during the marriage should be split, and he may even try to ask for spousal support since his 'business' is currently generating zero net income."
I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. "He wants me to pay him alimony?"
"He can ask," Evelyn smiled, a cold, predatory expression. "But we have a counter-strategy. I’ve spent the last forty-eight hours doing a deep dive into Huxley Real Estate’s financial records, along with your joint bank accounts from the past five years. Tell me, Tessa, did you know your husband has been using your joint account to pay for 'marketing expenses' that were actually personal credit card bills for his mother’s shopping trips?"
I froze. "What?"
Evelyn pulled out a stack of bank statements, highlighted in bright yellow. "Right here. Over the last three years, Grant transferred a total of $64,000 from your joint account—money that came directly from your salary deposits—into an account registered under Darlene Huxley’s name. He logged it as 'consulting fees' for his real estate firm. But Darlene isn't a licensed consultant. She doesn't even have a high school diploma. In the eyes of the family court, this is called dissipation of marital assets."
"He was stealing my salary to fund his mother's lifestyle," I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow.
"Exactly," Evelyn said, leaning forward. "And because he did it without your written consent and to the detriment of the marital estate, we are going to demand full reimbursement of those funds in the final settlement. We are also going to request that he take sole responsibility for the $80,000 in credit card debt he accumulated under his business name, which he tried to claim was a joint liability."
"Will he fight it?"
"Oh, he’ll try," Evelyn chuckled. "Men like Grant always fight until they realize that fighting costs money they don't have. His real estate firm is a house of cards, Tessa. He has two active lawsuits against him from former clients for breach of fiduciary duty, and his luxury car lease is three months past due. By the time I’m done with him, he’ll be lucky if he walks away with his designer suits."
As I left Evelyn's office, my phone rang from an unknown number. I hesitated, then answered it.
"Tessa! Don't hang up!" Grant’s voice burst through the speaker, sounding ragged and frantic. "You have to listen to me! The bank just froze my corporate credit card! They said there’s a legal hold on it because of a pending divorce action! I can't even buy gas!"
"Talk to Evelyn, Grant," I said coldly.
"Tessa, please! My mother is staying in a motel that smells like old cigarettes! She’s sick! We don't have any money left! If you just give me $10,000 from the trust, I’ll sign the divorce papers without a fight! I promise!"
"You really don't get it, do you?" I said, stopping on the sidewalk as rain began to fall over the city. "You threw my clothes in the hallway, Grant. You told me the couch was where I belonged in a house I bought with my grandmother’s blood, sweat, and tears. You and your mother thought you could bleed me dry and treat me like a servant in my own life."
"I was stressed!" he yelled, his voice cracking into a sob. "I made a mistake! Please, Tessa!"
May you like
"Goodbye, Grant."
I hung up and blocked the new number. I walked to my car, turned on the heater, and drove back toward the coast. The storm was coming, but for the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid of the rain.
