I hear the distaste in her tone and would bet a hundred dollars if I had it that she thinks she’s right for him.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and my heart rate spikes, anticipating Mile’s dropping the foreseen gavel with unpredictable consequences.
SLADE: Your car is all set.
My muscles relax when I see Slade’s name instead.
ME: Can I pick it up after work?
SLADE: Yes
I hear voices as Seth and Junior come down the hall. Both Marcie and Robyn go quiet. Marcie shuffles papers while Robyn studies her inch-long, brightly painted nails.
Seth is a tall, lean, good-looking guy with a nice smile. He’s always pleasant with clients and keeps more typical office hours.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” he tells Marcie. “If Clinton calls, tell him we need the document notarized.”
“Will do,” Marcie beams, her long black lashes fluttering.
“Just hold all my calls,” Junior says, and they giggle.
“Hey, Sarah,” Seth says, pushing out the door, but Junior stops.
“We should grab drinks sometime. I want to hear more about this biting problem.”
If this weren’t my place of employment, I’d inform him that spending just five minutes with him would require a level of intoxication that mimicked a coma.
“Yeah, no,” I say simply, and I can feel Marcie and Robyn’s jaws fall open.
“Let’s go, Macavoy,” Seth hollers from the other side of the glass door. Junior only grins, the kind that tells me this isn’t the end.
Griffin enters with his briefcase and pulls on a long wool coat. “I’ll be at the courthouse the rest of the afternoon,” he tells Robyn as Marcie stares out the window, watching the men climb into Junior’s sports car.
“Don’t forget you’re meeting with Carla Danvers first thing in the morning.” Robyn’s tone has returned to complete professionalism.
He nods, and I slip on my coat and follow him out the door to his black Lincoln SUV.
We make small talk on the way to the courthouse about my kids and settling into a new city, keeping everything light and away from anything deeply personal.
Inside the courthouse, he introduces me to Arlene Connor. She’s a pretty woman in her late forties. I’ve only spoken with her on the phone while collecting information about the contested assets, but she appears sophisticated and poised.
Steve Connor, her ex, started a real estate company prior to their marriage. His attorney is arguing that all business investments and retirement assets should remain in his name. After twenty years together, this would leave Arlene, who supported his business ventures and stayed home to raise their kids, with nothing.
My stomach squeezes tight, reliving losing every financial resource while my dignity was stripped from me right before my eyes.
But it’s why I’m here. I want to help those who are taken advantage of. Those who spend their days in the background, supporting their spouse as they achieve their professional dreams, only to find out it was a mistake to trust and rely on a life built entirely around them.
Court proceedings begin, and I listen intently as Griffin argues that the assets acquired during the marriage and their increase in value should be divided equally between the parties. It’s supported by outlining Arlene’s involvement in the business, which has been instrumental in the growth achieved over the years.
Griffin summarizes the assets and their value, explicitly pointing out the rental properties I discovered were recently purchased by Mr. Connor in conjunction with his brother, with Mr. Connor listed as the primary owner. I watch as the surprise hits the opposing attorney and his client. I want to smile, but I hold it back. It doesn’t pay off to try to be sneaky.
The afternoon wraps up with the judge dismissing us, directing that he’ll review all the information presented and make a ruling. Arlene smiles in relief as she shakes Griffin’s hand and then mine.
As Mr. Connor exits the courtroom, he stops beside Arlene. “Sleeping with my best friend wasn’t enough. Now, you want half of everything I built.” He huffs a defeated laugh, shaking his head as he turns and walks away.
Arlene inhales sharply, but I watch the man dragging behind his attorney, shoulders slumped under the weight of the blow.
My eyes fall to the floor, searching for sense in what just happened. My gut coils with the shock of injustice—the one I assisted with.
