The Pre-Nup Read online

  Emotion was a waste of energy. The only thing that mattered, according to Karen, was money. Ellie had forced herself to stop thinking about her impending divorce in terms of bitter betrayal and start framing it in terms of billable hours. Of which Karen had already amassed a heart-stopping number.

  We are gathered here today to put an exact dollar amount on your value as a wife, mother, and human being.

  After an office assistant ferried in a tray heaped with pastries, a crystal carafe of water, and a silver pot of coffee, Michael’s attorney helped himself to a scone and whipped out a sheaf of papers. “Shall we get started?”

  “Absolutely.” Karen took a seat next to Ellie. “I’d like to begin with a few questions about the financial documentation your office provided me with.”

  “Of course.” Mr. Dawes looked directly at Ellie, who flushed and started to fidget.

  “According to the terms of the pre-nuptial agreement, my client is entitled to half of all assets acquired during the course of the marriage, in addition to the cash value of three percent of the Bartons’ family business.” Karen glanced down at the documents in front of her. “But per this accounting report, your client…”

  “Actually lost money during the course of the marriage. Correct.” Mr. Dawes nodded. “He supported his wife and daughter primarily with the interest from his trust fund, the principal of which, as you know, is exempt from the terms of the pre-nup.”

  Karen scribbled down a few notes. “So your contention is that Mr. Barton’s salary did not contribute to the family finances in any substantial way?”

  “Correct. Most of the couple’s assets, including the down payments for the house and vehicles, were attained via cash gifts from Mr. Barton’s parents.”

  Ellie’s head snapped back up. “What? That’s not true!”

  Karen silenced her with a light touch on the wrist. “And what about Ms. Barton’s share of the real estate development company?”

  Terry Dawes initiated a brief, whispered consulation with Michael. Then he nodded and turned back to Karen and Ellie. “Ms. Barton signed a buy-sell agreement, stipulating that in the case of divorce, she must sell back her share of the company at current market value.”

  “I’m well aware. And your contention is that Ms. Barton’s share is worth…?” Karen raised one eyebrow, inviting the opposing counsel to finish the sentence.

  Michael’s lawyer named a dollar amount so low that Ellie couldn’t stifle her gasp. The attorney shrugged in a theatrical display of helplessness. “As you know, the real estate market is severely depressed right now. And, even assuming the market was booming, three percent doesn’t amount to much, especially when we have to account for reserves for depreciation, rising taxes and insurance costs, and falling rents. The fact is, my client’s family business is in the red and has been for some time.”

  Michael murmured in agreement while tugging down his shirt cuff to conceal the Cartier watch on his left wrist.

  Ellie snorted. “Give me a break. His country club membership alone costs like ten thousand dollars a year. He spends money like it’s water!”

  Karen hastened to rephrase this: “I must agree that the Bartons did seem to enjoy an extremely comfortable lifestyle. Luxury furnishings, vacations, new automobiles every two years. If the records that have been supplied are complete, then clearly my client and her husband were living far beyond their means.”

  Terry Dawes chuckled. “They certainly wouldn’t be the first couple to do so. Their cars were leased, the house was purchased with a negatively amortized mortgage, and Mr. Barton took out several sizable lines of credit to finance various remodels and furniture purchases. In fact, my client is now living in one of his parents’ investment properties for economy’s sake.”

  Ellie mirrored her lawyer’s stony-faced demeanor and said, “He’s lying.”

  Michael’s jaw dropped. Terry Dawes’s eyes bugged out. “Ms. Barton, that is a very serious accusation! For you to imply—”

  Karen cut him off. “Frankly, I have to agree that this summary of Mr. Barton’s accounts seems incomplete. Your client has an obligation to produce all financial records: pay stubs, bonuses, preexisting bank accounts, investments, tax returns. All the money for the course of the marriage.”

  “I understand my client’s obligation, counselor. If you’d like to take this before a judge, we’re happy to go to court.”

  Karen didn’t miss a beat. “You do realize that if the court finds that you’ve been less than forthcoming about the true state of your client’s finances, you’ll be held in contempt?”

  “My client has fully divulged all financial records in good faith. I assure you, he’s practically bankrupt.”

  Ellie covered her mouth and pretended to cough. “Bullshit.” Michael reddened.

  With a flourish, Terry Dawes produced a stack of documents and slid them across the table. “Ms. Barton, isn’t this your signature on the tax returns filed jointly by you and your husband during the course of your marriage?”

  Ellie glanced through the tax forms. “Yes, but—”

  He jabbed his index finger toward the ceiling. “Are you asserting that these tax returns do not fairly and accurately reflect the financial situation of Mr. Barton and yourself?”

  Ellie realized too late that Michael had trapped her. Again. “Well, I—”

  “Surely you’re aware that it would constitute perjury to file a falsified or incomplete tax return with the IRS?”

  Ellie looked to Karen for direction while Terry settled back and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “The profit and loss statements included in these tax returns corroborate my client’s account of monetary distress. So the question before us, Ms. Barton, is: Were you lying to the IRS for the past seven years about the state of your finances? Or are you lying to counsel about the state of your finances now?”

  Karen held up her hand. “You’re way out of line. This is a gross mischaracterization of what’s going on here!”

  “Then let’s get down to brass tacks,” Terry said to Karen. “We’re willing to cede any remaining equity in the house to your client; in exchange, my client would retain ownership of the house’s contents. Furniture, exercise equipment, appliances, et cetera. It’s more than fair.”

  Ellie swept aside the tax returns. “He’s already looted all the expensive stuff! The grand piano, the paintings, my jewelry.”

  Michael brushed off his lawyer and addressed her directly. “Those are family heirlooms.”

  “Your mother gave me those emeralds!” Ellie insisted. “They were a gift.”

  “They were a gift predicated on your union with my client,” Terry Dawes said. “Those emeralds have been in the Barton family for several generations. And speaking of family heirlooms…” He did his best to feign reluctance. “We’d like to request the return of Ms. Barton’s engagement ring. Immediately.”

  “Not going to happen,” Karen said. “An engagement ring’s a gift, free and clear.”

  “Not in this case,” Terry said. “If the marriage dissolves, ownership reverts to the Bartons.”

  “According to whom?” Karen demanded. “There’s nothing in the pre-nup about the engagement ring.”

  Terry dug out another stapled stack of papers. “I happen to have with me a copy of the current insurance policy on the diamond ring and the emerald pieces. Notice the name of the policy holder.” He pointed out the text for them: Heath Barton. “While it was indeed generous of your father-in-law to let you wear the jewels, the duration and amount of this policy clearly establishes ownership.”

  Ellie looked Michael right in the eye and asked, “Who are you? When did you turn into such a—a—”

  “Stay calm,” Karen said under her breath.

  “Have a shred of decency!” Ellie said. “Even if you don’t care about me anymore, think about Hannah.”

  The opposing attorney nodded. “On the subject of your daughter.”

  “Stay calm,” Karen
repeated.

  “Ms. Barton will be entitled to court-mandated spousal support only for the length of time that it would take her to complete career training and reenter the workforce. She’s young, she has a college degree, she’s certainly capable of supporting herself. Clearly, my client is in no position to provide a lump-sum settlement to Ms. Barton at this time, but he is prepared to do whatever it takes to support his daughter.”

  “Well, I should hope so!” Ellie exclaimed.

  Michael and his lawyer both ignored her. “We do understand that as a working mother, Ms. Barton will necessarily undergo a drastic change in lifestyle. My client is more than willing to assume full physical custody of his daughter.”

  Ellie, who had never so much as swatted Hannah’s behind, had to fight the sudden and overwhelming urge to lunge across the table and physically rip out Michael’s jugular. She gripped the tabletop with both hands and said, “Never. Over my cold, dead body. I mean it, Michael. If you try to take Hannah, I will—”

  “My client has proven himself to be a devoted father. Furthermore, he can show that he’ll have the monetary and practical means; his family will guarantee educational and financial assistance, provided Hannah lives with their son.”

  “They should be willing to do that, anyway!” Ellie said. “She’s still their grandchild, no matter who she lives with.”

  “Oh, we agree,” Terry Dawes oozed. “Sadly, Mr. Barton’s parents do not.”

  “Patrice would never…” Ellie’s hands started to ache. At this rate, her fingertips were going to leave permanent indentations in the wood. “Does your mother know about this?”

  “You’re never going to get full custody.” Karen sounded bored. “My client is an excellent mother, and you know as well as I do that any court-appointed intermediary is going to side with her.”

  “Ms. Barton might want to consider the needs of her daughter above her own. Were her daughter to live primarily with my clients and his parents, her standard of living would be significantly—”

  “This line of negotiation isn’t worth pursuing.” Ellie’s lawyer tapped her pen against the tabletop. “My client will never agree to that. Let’s move on.”

  Ellie’s entire body was trembling with fury. Michael avoided her searing glare and pretended to study the yellow legal pad next to his attorney.

  “Fine. We’ll table the custody issue until our next meeting,” Terry Dawes said. “As to the matter of the house contents and the vehicles—”

  “Before we continue,” Karen interjected, “I do realize that my client is bound by the terms of the pre-nuptial agreement, but I’d like to point out that if both parties didn’t fully disclose all assets at the time the pre-nup was signed, the agreement is not binding.”

  Mr. Dawes frowned. “Where exactly are you going with this? I already told you that my client is in dire financial straits. We’ve accounted for all of his income and holdings. Ms. Barton signed tax returns that corroborate his accounts. You have absolutely no grounds to suggest that my client has ever hidden any assets, before or after the marriage.”

  “I have the firsthand account of my client.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Well, no offense, but I’d venture that Ms. Barton’s current perspective is somewhat colored by emotion.”

  “I’ll go to court for an injunction if I have to,” Karen warned.

  “Go right ahead. You have no evidence, and we have nothing to hide.”

  “You’re sure?” Karen said. “No offshore accounts, no assets recently transferred to family members?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Not even Ms. Barton’s recently liquidated retirement accounts?”

  Terry Dawes didn’t even blink. “My client used those funds to pay off jointly held debts before they separated. It inured to the benefit of both of them.”

  “Check his computer files,” Ellie said to Karen. “His laptop. That’s where the real dirt is going to be.”

  For the first time since he’d sent her off for the spa day from hell, Michael’s face registered the tiniest flicker of guilt. He immediately reached down and clamped a proprietary hand on his briefcase, which never left his side and which always contained the laptop in question.

  Karen tapped her pen against the table. “If you have nothing to hide, certainly you wouldn’t object to a forensic accountant reviewing your client’s computer files?”

  “Out of the question,” Michael’s lawyer blustered. “First of all, my client has no undisclosed accounts and any suggestion to the contrary is malicious slander. Secondly, before we would even consider granting access to his personal files, my client would need ample opportunity to go through and redact all private and unrelated material.”

  Michael tightened his grip on his briefcase.

  “My client has sensitive information on his computers,” Terry said. “Correspondence that is protected by attorney/client privilege, medical records, contact information for his new girlfriend. Plenty of fodder for harassment. No judge is going to grant that injunction, and you know it.”

  Ellie tuned out the attorneys’ sniping and stared down the tall, dark and handsome conniver she had mistaken for Prince Charming. She knew he was lying about the money. A few hours alone with that laptop would blow their pre-nup to hell. But how would she ever persuade him to turn it over to her?

  Her husband had always underestimated her. She’d been too sweet and soft to ever pose a threat. But that had been before he’d uttered the words that were going to seal his doom: full custody.

  Prince Charming was about to find out that, when pushed far enough, even Snow White had a dark side.

  Mara Chapter 20

  Hey, Julie, have you seen the DeLorenzo documents?” Mara gave her overloaded assistant a hopeful look. Monday mornings were always hectic at the firm, but today was especially crazy with deadlines and demands.

  Julie didn’t look away from her computer screen. “Sorry, but no.”

  “Are you sure? I thought I gave them to you to proofread.”

  “You did, but then you asked for them back, remember?”

  “Vaguely.” Mara conducted a mental inventory of her town house and office, trying to puzzle out where she might have left the contract drafts.

  Julie squinched up her face before sneezing into a crumpled tissue.

  “Bless you,” Mara said.

  “Thanks. I think I’m coming down with something. My throat tickles and my nose has been running—”

  “Well, take it easy,” Mara said. “Lots of fluids. Cough syrup. Zinc. You name it, I’ll have it messengered over ASAP.”

  Julie grinned and blew her nose again. “You just don’t want me to take a sick day.”

  “You wound me.” Mara glanced at the pile of Kleenex heaped in the wastebasket under Julie’s desk. “Take a nap at lunch. You can use the couch in my office.”

  Her assistant looked shocked. “Aren’t you working through lunch?”

  “Not today.” Mara drummed the fingers of her now ringless left hand on the door frame. “I think I just remembered where I put the DeLorenzo files.”

  Good thing she had hung on to her key to Josh’s apartment. She’d tried to return her engagement ring via messenger, but Josh had refused delivery, and so now it was moldering in her safety deposit box at the bank.

  She hadn’t spoken to him since he’d dumped her at the Black Diamond. She had, however, spoken to the wedding planner. And the caterer. And the florist. And her mother, who had said, “You couldn’t have decided this before invitations went out?” and then hung up in a huff.

  Mara knew that she should try to glean a bit of wisdom from the smoldering wreck that had once been her love life. She should track down Josh and tell him everything she knew to be true: that she wished him well, that she accepted full responsibility for sabotaging the only semihealthy relationship she’d ever had, that she would never entirely get over him. She should finally say what she meant and mean what she said.

&nb
sp; And she would.

  Someday very soon.

  But on this chilly, overcast Monday afternoon, it was all she could do to force herself to drive over to his apartment building and cruise the parking lot to ensure that his car wasn’t in its customary spot. Then, just to be sure the coast was clear, she dialed his home number and held her breath while the phone rang four times before his answering machine clicked on.

  She climbed the carpeted stairs to the third-floor apartment and tried to remember precisely where she’d left the drafts she needed. Probably in the huge chrome bread box on the kitchen counter. Josh had picked up the hulking relic from the 1950’s at a garage sale, and had offered it to Mara as a makeshift filing system since “you get mad when I use your work papers as coasters, and now, when you’re at the firm and your paperwork smells like doughnuts, you’ll think of me.”

  The mere thought of doughnuts made her stomach lurch. She hurried down the hallway, slipped her key into the deadbolt on Josh’s door, and told herself that she must be coming down with Julie’s bug. Queasiness and headaches were classic flu symptoms. Same with soul-crushing remorse and the urge to weep openly.

  “Josh?” A female voice called out when the lock clicked open.

  Mara froze.

  “Josh?” The voice sounded closer this time, and Mara heard rustling on the other side of the door. The key started to swivel as someone turned the deadbolt from the inside, and then, before she could flee or even attempt to disguise her expression of horror, the door swung inward and Mara found herself face-to-face with the perfect, petite, auburn-haired stripper from the Black Diamond.

  Bentlie/Alex’s eyes widened when she recognized Mara, but she quickly recovered her composure. “Well, well, well. Fancy meeting you here.”

  Mara didn’t bother trying to dredge up a witty rejoinder. She was too busy hyperventilating. “What are you wearing?”

  The dancer had traded in her sequins and platform heels for a comfy ensemble of gray sweatpants, a navy sweater rolled up at the sleeves, and an Arizona Diamond-backs cap pulled low over her tousled red hair.