Chapter 8 - The Strategy Meeting
At 3:00 PM, the sun was shining brightly outside the glass windows of Mitchell & Associates in downtown Chicago.
I sat at my wide conference table, drinking a cup of green tea, surrounded by my legal and financial team. Marcus Vance sat to my right, while my senior forensic accountant, Sarah Chen, sat opposite us with three thick binders open.
"Let's review the asset separation," I said calmly, setting my tea down.
Sarah pulled up a spreadsheet on the large wall screen. "It’s surprisingly simple, Lauren. Because you kept your primary accounts, real estate titles, and investment portfolios strictly separated throughout the eight years of marriage, Jason has zero legal claim to your pre-marital property, your architecture firm equity, or your inheritance funds."
"What about his claims of marital contribution?" Marcus asked.
"We audited every deposit Jason made into your joint checking account over the last ninety-six months," Sarah explained, tapping her tablet. "His total contribution averaged eighteen thousand dollars a year—roughly fifteen hundred a month. However, during that same timeframe, your direct personal subsidies toward his personal debts, executive coaching, luxury clothing, and auto insurance totaled twenty-four thousand dollars a year."
Sarah looked up, a sharp smile touching her lips.
"In short," Sarah concluded, "Jason wasn't contributing to the marital estate. He was operating at an annual net loss of six thousand dollars, fully subsidized by you. If he tries to claim marital equity, we can counter-claim for full reimbursement of non-marital debt coverage."
Marcus chuckled, making a note on his pad. "He doesn't have the legal capital to fight a counter-claim, Sarah. His personal attorney called my office an hour ago asking if we would consider a consent decree."
"What are his terms?" I asked.
"He wants you to drop the credit card fraud notice against his mother, release his Ford Explorer from the joint insurance freeze, and grant him sixty days to vacate the Elm Street house so he can find an apartment," Marcus said.
I looked out at the city skyline, feeling a profound, quiet clarity.
Two days ago, Jason had stood in my living room and told me that his entire salary belonged to his mother, while leaving me to 'figure out' the basic costs of survival. He had believed he was throwing me to the wolves. Now, he was begging for scraps from the very table he had tried to overturn.
"Tell his attorney no," I said, my voice completely free of anger or hesitation.
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "On all three points?"
"On all three," I confirmed. "Diane attempted to execute an eight-thousand-dollar transaction on a revoked credit card after being verbally informed of her status. She can handle the legal consequences with her own bank. Jason's auto insurance was tied to my rewards account—he can secure his own policy. And as for the Elm Street property..."
I stood up, smoothing the skirt of my tailored suit.
"He has twenty-seven days remaining on his Sheriff's notice," I said coldly. "He will abide by every restriction in that order. He will pay his fifty-percent utility invoice on Monday morning, or I will file an immediate motion for contempt."
"Understood," Marcus smiled. "I’ll deliver the response before close of business."
As my team gathered their papers, my personal phone chimed on the desk.
It was a text message from an unknown number. I opened it.
Lauren, please. Mom is having a panic attack at Beverly's condo. The bank flagged her accounts. My boss put me on unpaid leave. I have no money for gas. Please just talk to me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
I stared at the message for three seconds.
May you like
I didn't reply. I didn't save the number. I tapped the screen, blocked the contact, and walked out of the conference room to review the new floor plans for my forty-million-dollar downtown project.
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