Chapter 5
Jerome's office smelled of expensive mahogany wood and old law books,
a comforting,
authoritative atmosphere that always made me feel safe.
I laid the neat folders of evidence out across his massive desk,
watching as his experienced eyes scanned each document with intense focus,
a slow smile spreading across his weathered face.
"This is brilliant,
Avery,"
Jerome murmured,
tapping his finger against a receipt from a luxury hotel in Aspen,
"you have documented everything perfectly."
"The dates on these receipts coincide exactly with the time his grandmother was in hospice,"
he noted,
his legal mind connecting the pieces effortlessly,
"which paints a devastating picture of his character."
"Not only was he cheating on his wife,"
Jerome explained,
looking up at me with a sharp,
triumphant gleam in his eyes,
"but he was doing so while pretending to mourn his dying relative."
"No judge in this state will look kindly on his behavior,"
he added,
"especially when confronted with the explicit terms of the late matriarch's will."
"Have you heard from the estate executor?"
I asked,
leaning forward in my chair,
my heart ticking with anticipation.
"Yes,"
Jerome confirmed,
pulling out a confidential letter with an official legal seal,
"Mr. Harrison,
the executor,
is fully aware of the situation."
"He was a close personal friend of Scott's grandmother,"
Jerome revealed,
"and he was instructed by her to monitor the divorce proceedings closely."
"He will be present in the courtroom on Friday,"
he told me,
"sitting quietly in the back gallery until we call him forward."
"Scott thinks this is a standard,
boring divorce hearing,"
I noted,
a quiet chuckle escaping my lips,
"he has no idea the executor will even be in the room."
"Exactly,"
Jerome agreed,
leaning back in his leather chair and folding his hands together,
"he thinks he is just signing a property waiver and walking away a millionaire."
"His lawyer,
Marcus Vance,
is a shark,"
Jerome warned me,
"but even sharks can't swim when you drain the entire ocean out from under them."
"Vance will try to push for a quick,
no-fault verbal agreement,"
he predicted,
"and we will let him speak first,
letting them build up their false confidence."
"They will present the paperwork that strips you of everything,"
he continued,
"and they will expect you to cry,
to beg,
or to refuse to sign."
"And what should I do instead?"
I asked,
already knowing the answer but wanting to hear the strategy aloud.
"You will remain completely calm,"
Jerome instructed,
his voice dropping to a serious,
focused tone,
"you will look heartbroken,
and you will agree that the marriage is over."
"Then,
just as the judge is about to finalize the standard decree,"
he whispered with a brilliant smile,
"I will stand up and introduce the grandmother's conditional mandate."
"We will present this mountain of infidelity evidence,"
he stated,
gesturing to the folders spread across his desk,
"and we will watch Scott's entire world collapse in real time."
"It will be a spectacular sight,"
I murmured,
feeling a surge of adrenaline rushing through my veins.
"He threw me out of my own home with two hours' notice,"
I reminded Jerome,
the memory of that humiliating night flashing through my mind,
"he left me with nothing but a few suitcases while Kayla watched and laughed."
"He told me I was worthless,"
I whispered,
"and that I would always be a failure without his family's money."
"Well,"
Jerome said softly,
looking at me with deep professional respect and genuine empathy,
"on Friday,
you will walk out of that courtroom as a very wealthy woman,"
"and Scott will walk out with nothing but a massive legal bill and a ruined reputation."
"Go home,
Avery,"
he told me,
gathering the folders and locking them securely inside his fireproof safe,
"get some rest,
and wear your best outfit on Fridaymorning."
"The stage is set,"
May you like
he concluded,
"and it's time to let the curtains rise on his destruction."
