Chapter 5 - The Legal Demolition
With the physical eviction complete, the real war shifted to the courtroom. Jameson’s initial divorce filing had been a sloppy, greedy attempt to claim half of what he thought were my modest assets while protecting his business. He had no idea that his entire financial existence was now an open book to my legal team.
Three weeks after the eviction, we sat in a sterile, high-end conference room on the 40th floor of the Sterling building. Jameson sat across from me, looking haggard, his suit unpressed, dark circles bruising the skin under his eyes. He no longer had his parents or his mistress by his side. He only had a public defender—his high-priced corporate lawyers had abandoned him the moment his accounts were frozen.
Clara Vance slid a thick stack of financial audits across the table.
“Mr. Vance,” Clara began, her voice cool and professional. “We have reviewed your counterclaim for marital asset distribution. It is our position that you are entitled to exactly zero dollars.”
Jameson’s lawyer, a tired-looking man named Mr. Harris, sighed. “Ms. Vance, my client was married to your client for five years. Under state law, he is entitled to a equitable division of—”
“Under state law, yes,” Clara interrupted, pulling out another document. “Unless there is a signed prenuptial agreement with an active infidelity and financial fraud clause. Which, as you can see here, there is.”
Jameson gasped, staring at the document. “I never signed that! We didn't do a prenup! You said we didn't need one because we trusted each other!”
“You didn't sign it at our wedding, Jameson,” I said, speaking up for the first time. “You signed it eighteen months ago, when you asked me to sign the guarantor documents for your first business expansion. You were so eager to get my signature, and so drunk on your own self-importance, that you didn't even read the riders attached to the contract. You signed a legally binding amendment stating that any infidelity or proven financial deceit would forfeit your rights to any marital assets, while holding you personally liable for all joint debts.”
Jameson turned a sickly shade of green. He looked at his lawyer, who was slowly flipping through the pages of the document, his expression growing more hopeless with every second.
“Is this... is this valid?” Jameson whispered to his attorney.
Mr. Harris closed the folder, looking at Jameson with pity. “It’s airtight, Jameson. You signed a multi-tiered corporate rider. Not only do you have no claim to her assets, but under this clause, you personally owe Sterling Enterprises the remaining balance of the commercial debt—with interest—accruing daily.”
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“But I don't have any money!” Jameson cried out, slamming his hands on the table. “My business is bankrupt! My parents lost their savings trying to bail me out of the initial foreclosure! I’m living in a motel!”
“Then I suggest you find a job, Jameson,” I said softly, leaning forward. “Because I will be collecting every single penny. And if you miss a single payment, I won't just foreclose on your property. I will have the court garnish your wages for the rest of your life.”
