Then he said the one sentence that made me sit up.
“They froze the accounts,” he whispered. “And there are people at the house.”
I let silence stretch.
“All of them?” I asked softly.
“All of them!” he shouted. “My checking account. My business credit line. Even the joint account. The bank says the mortgage payment didn’t process. That’s impossible—I have money!”
I glanced at Naomi, who raised an eyebrow.
“Who is ‘they’?” I asked.
“The bank. And some corporate security guy. He’s at the door with documents. He says I have to vacate pending ownership review.”
Ownership review.
Interesting.
“What did you tell your attorney about how you purchased the house?” I asked.
Silence.
“Exactly what the deed says.”
“And the down payment?”
“You transferred money once,” he said. “That was your savings.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
“That wasn’t savings,” I said. “That was my compensation.”
He laughed nervously. “Compensation for what? You’re a consultant.”
“I’m a senior executive partner at a private equity firm,” I replied. “Last year my compensation was $4.2 million.”
Silence swallowed the line.
“That’s not funny,” he said weakly.
“It isn’t a joke.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered.
“Because I wanted a marriage,” I said. “Not a dependent.”
His breathing became erratic.
“Okay. We can fix this,” he rushed. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was stressed—”
“No,” I interrupted. “You meant it.”
Naomi slid another document toward me.
“Trent,” I continued, “you didn’t just insult me. You attempted illegal eviction. That helps my case.”
“You can’t throw me out!” he shouted.
“I’m not,” I said calmly. “A judge is.”
There was a muffled voice in the background:
“Sir, please step back. This is a service notice.”
His voice cracked. “They’re taking my laptop. They say there are financial discrepancies.”
I exhaled slowly.
“Did you put the house under your business name at any point?” I asked.
“I—my accountant suggested—”
There it was.
Naomi leaned in and spoke into the phone for the first time, her voice polished steel:
“Mr. Walker, you’ve been served. You will comply with the temporary order. Any interference will be considered a violation.”
Trent sounded like he might collapse.
“Please,” he whispered. “Just make them leave.”
I didn’t raise my voice.
“Trent,” I said evenly, “you don’t get to call me worthless and then panic when you realize I was the one holding everything together.”
He stopped breathing for a moment.
“I didn’t know,” he said softly.
“You didn’t ask,” I replied. “You assumed.”
There was a long pause.
“Is there any way you’ll stop this?” he asked quietly.
“No,” I said. “But I’ll be fair.”
I ended the call.
Later that evening, my phone buzzed again.
A text from an unknown number:
“He’s not telling you everything. Check the safety deposit box.”
My stomach tightened.
The safety deposit box.
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