Chapter 7 - The Lawyer's Office
I called Marta Ellison first thing Monday. Her assistant called back within the hour, and by noon I was across the desk from her with the folder open between us and Renee's phone playing Derek's voice through the speaker.
Marta listened to all six recordings without saying a word. When the last one stopped she took her glasses off and looked at me.
"How long have you had these?"
"Since Saturday."
"And the bank records."
"Same."
She picked up the top statement and read it again. "This account was opened during the marriage."
"Yes."
"Then marital funds were moved without your knowledge or your consent." She set it down. "That reopens the settlement conversation. All of it."
"The divorce is already final."
"Final settlements can be reopened when fraud is on the table." She looked at me steadily. "And if this documentation is what it looks like, this is fraud."
I'd known that was possible. Hearing a lawyer say it out loud across a desk made it real in a whole different way.
"What about Bethany?" I asked. "She needs a lawyer and she can't—"
"I'll refer her to someone who does family law. Paternity, support, the harassment — all of that is actionable." Marta paused. "You understand you're not obligated to fight her battle for her. Your interests and hers aren't the same thing."
"I know," I said. "But he threatened her the same way he ran me for years. He was just louder about it with her, because he figured she had less she could do about it." I looked at the folder. "I want him to run out of people he can do that to."
Marta studied me a second. "All right. Let's talk about what we file first."
I was in that office two hours. I came out with a list of steps, a timeline, and a fraud review hearing on the calendar six weeks out.
Derek had sent two more texts since Saturday. Sunday afternoon: *I'm trying to be reasonable. Don't make this worse than it has to be.* Sunday night: *Fine. Do whatever you want. But you should know Nicole and I are working it out. Whatever you think you pulled off, you didn't.*
I showed all three to Marta before I left. She photographed them with her own phone. "Don't respond. Not to any of them. If he contacts you again, forward it straight to me."
I drove home with the radio off, turning that last text over. *Nicole and I are working it out.*
Nicole had sat in that side room with her face in her hands. She'd said she was sorry, and she'd sounded like she meant it. She'd also chosen Derek in the first place, knowing exactly what it would cost me.
I didn't know what I owed her. I wasn't sure I owed her anything. But I knew if she went back to him without the whole picture — the fraud, the six recordings, what Marta had told me that morning — she was walking into something she didn't understand.
I pulled into the driveway and sat there a minute. Then I called her.
She picked up on the second ring. "I wasn't sure you'd call."
"I need to tell you something," I said. "Not to hurt you. Because you need it before you decide anything."
"Okay."
"It's not just fourteen months. Marta thinks the account goes back further — maybe before he even started with you. And there aren't one or two recordings of him threatening Bethany. There are six. Over three months."
Quiet on the line.
"Nicole."
"I heard you," she said.
"I'm not telling you what to do. That's yours. But you should decide with all of it in front of you."
A long pause. "He told me Saturday night that Bethany set the whole thing up. That she coached Sophie somehow. That you were behind it."
"Sophie is nine," I said. "She found a letter in a jacket in the garage. That's the whole thing."
"I know." Her voice was very small. "I think I knew it when he said it. I just wanted there to be another version."
I didn't say anything.
"He's not here," she said. "He went to see his lawyer this morning."
"So did I."
A silence. Then: "What happens now?"
"There's a hearing in six weeks. If the fraud holds, the settlement reopens."
She took that in. "He's going to be so angry."
"Yes," I said. "He is."
I heard her let out a long breath.
"I'm not going back to him," she said. It came out like something she was deciding in the middle of the sentence. "I think I knew that Saturday. I just needed—" She stopped. "I don't know what I needed."
"You needed to be sure," I said.
"Yeah."
We were quiet a moment.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I know I keep saying it. I know it doesn't fix anything."
"It doesn't," I said. "But I heard you."
I hung up and went inside. Sophie was at the kitchen table doing homework. She looked up.
"How was your day?" she asked, dead serious, like a tiny coworker.
"Long," I said. "But good, I think."
She nodded and went back to her worksheet. I put the kettle on and stood at the window looking at the backyard, and for the first time in months the quiet felt like something I'd earned instead of something that had been done to me.
My phone buzzed. Marta.
May you like
*His attorney called this afternoon. He wants to negotiate before the hearing. I said we'd consider it. Wanted you to know — this means he's worried. That's a good sign.*
I read it twice, set the phone on the counter, and finished making the tea.
