Chapter 6 - The Paperwork of Freedom
The next two weeks passed in a blur of swift, decisive legal battles.
Omar did not go quietly, of course. Men like him rely on the silence and exhaustion of their victims to succeed. The day after he was escorted off the property, he tried to file for a legal separation in the city, claiming entitlement to half the value of the country house, citing "spousal contribution" and claiming he had performed structural renovations on the property during their four months of marriage.
He had miscalculated one very important detail: he was fighting a retired head bookkeeper.
I sat at the large oak dining table in Sasha's house, surrounding myself with folders, bank statements, receipts, and spreadsheets. For three straight days, I meticulously cross-referenced every single dollar that had touched that property since the day the offer was accepted.
When Omar’s lawyer sent a formal demand letter claiming $25,000 for "property improvements and maintenance," I scheduled a meeting with Sarah Jenkins, a sharp, unyielding family law attorney in town whom I hired using the last of my emergency reserve funds.
We met Sarah in her office overlooking the town square. She reviewed Omar’s claims and chuckled dryly.
"He claims he installed a new HVAC unit and repaved the driveway," Sarah said, flipping through Omar's filing. "Did he?"
"Omar doesn't know how to hold a hammer," Sasha said. Her voice was remarkably calmer now, the dark circles under her eyes beginning to fade after a week of real sleep. "My mother paid for the roof repair, and local contractors did the plumbing. Omar sat on the porch and drank beer while they worked."
"I have every itemized receipt, bank withdrawal slip, and contractor invoice right here, Ms. Jenkins," I said, sliding a thick blue binder across the desk. "Including sworn affidavits from the plumber and the roofer stating that Mr. Reed never performed a single hour of labor, nor did he provide any financial compensation. Furthermore, I have bank records proving Mr. Reed has not contributed a single dollar toward the mortgage, property taxes, or utility bills since they were married."
Sarah examined the binder, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across her face. "Mrs. Vance, you’re better at discovery than half the paralegals in my firm."
"I kept books for thirty-five years, dear," I said mildly. "Men who lie with numbers are my specialty."
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"With this evidence," Sarah said, turning to Sasha, "we aren't just contesting his claim. We are filing for an immediate annulment on the grounds of fraud and financial coercion, along with a permanent restraining order. He won't get a single penny of this house, Sasha. Not one cent."
For the first time in years, I saw Sasha smile—a real, genuine smile that reached her eyes. "Let's do it," she said.
