Chapter 60 Divorce Saga
Vivienne's POV
I stared at her. "But it was his company. His family's company."
"Was he CEO before you married him?" Monica asked.
"Yes. But that seat was shaky even before we got married. That's what the whole marriage was for. To solidify the seat and not be kicked out of it.
Monica smiled. Not a happy smile. A lawyer kind of smile. The kind of smile that meant she had just found something important.
"So his position as CEO during your marriage became strong, which means any compensation, bonuses, stock options, or benefits he received as CEO are marital property.
You helped him stay in that position. You worked at his company. You attended business dinners. You played the role of supportive wife at corporate events. All of that contributed to his success and the growth of marital assets."
"I also worked directly on company projects," I added, my mind starting to race now. "I built presentations. I helped with strategy meetings. I analyzed quarterly reports. I wasn't just decorative. I actually contributed to the company's success."
"Even better," Monica said, writing more notes. "Do you have any proof of that? Emails with your name on them? Documents you created? Meeting notes?"
I thought about my laptop. My work laptop that was probably still sitting on my desk in that office I could no longer access.
"My laptop," I said. "But it's still at the company. I couldn't get into my office this morning."
"That's company property and they're required to preserve it," Monica said. "We can subpoena that if necessary. What about email? Did you use a company email address?"
"Yes."
"Good. Those emails are discoverable evidence. They can't delete them without facing serious legal consequences."
The anger that had been quietly building inside me all day was getting stronger now. Hotter. More focused.
Raphael thought he could just erase me. Fire me. Lock me out. Offer me whatever scraps he felt like giving me and send me on my way.
But he had made a mistake. A big one.
He never made me sign a prenup.
Maybe because he never took our marriage seriously enough to bother. Maybe because he thought I was too naive and grateful to ever fight back. Maybe because he honestly believed I would just disappear quietly when the time was up.
He was wrong.
"I want to fight this," I said, looking at Monica. "I don't want to just sign his papers and walk away with whatever he decides to give me. I want what I'm actually entitled to."
Monica nodded approvingly. "Good. That's exactly the right attitude. But I need you to understand that this could get ugly. He has more resources than we do. He can afford expensive lawyers who will drag this out and make it difficult. Are you prepared for that?"
Was I prepared? I didn't know. Yesterday I was planning an anniversary dinner. Today I was sitting in a coffee shop planning to fight my husband in divorce court.
But I thought about how he had looked last night. Standing at that window with his back to me. So calm. So cold. Like I was nothing. Like three years meant nothing.
"Yes," I said. "I'm prepared."
"Alright then," Monica said, closing her notepad. "Let's go meet with David Anderson and see what they're offering. But remember, you're listening only. No signing. No commitments. No promises. Understood?"
"Understood,” I nodded.
Sarah squeezed my hand under the table.
The three of us walked the two blocks to Anderson & Associates. The office was in one of those old buildings with marble floors and dark wood paneling. Everything designed to look impressive and intimidating. To make regular people feel small.
But I didn't feel small anymore.
I felt angry. And anger was so much better than broken.
The receptionist told us Mr. Anderson was ready and led us down a long hallway to a conference room. She opened the door and gestured for us to enter.
David Anderson was sitting at the head of a long table. He was exactly what I expected. Late fifties, gray hair, expensive suit, confident smile. The kind of lawyer who had been doing this for thirty years and thought he had seen everything.
But his smile faltered slightly when he saw Monica walk in behind me.
"Mrs. Moreau," he said, standing up. "I wasn't aware you would be bringing anyone to this meeting."
"This is my attorney, Monica Rodriguez," I said, and my voice came out stronger than I expected. "All communications regarding this divorce should go through her from now on."
I placed Monica's business card on the table in front of him.
Anderson looked at the card. Then at Monica. Then at me.
His expression changed. Became more guarded. More careful.
"Of course," he said smoothly. "Please, have a seat."
We sat down across from him. Sarah stayed standing by the door, her arms crossed, watching everything.
Anderson opened a folder in front of him and pulled out a thick stack of papers.
"These are the divorce papers," he said. "As you can see, Mr. Moreau has been very generous in his settlement offer."
He slid the papers across the table toward me.
"He's offering you two million dollars as a one-time payment, plus six months of continued health insurance coverage. In exchange, you waive all claims to any other marital assets or spousal support."
Two million dollars. Once upon a time, that would have seemed like all the money in the world. More than I ever dreamed of having.
But Monica had just told me I was entitled to half of everything accumulated during our marriage. And Marcus had become CEO during our marriage. Had grown the company significantly during our marriage. Had accumulated stock options and bonuses and investments during our marriage.
Two million dollars wasn't generous. It was insulting.
Monica leaned forward and smiled sweetly at Anderson.
"We'll need time to review these documents thoroughly," she said. "Please send a full disclosure of all marital assets to my office within the next week, as required by law.
That includes all bank accounts, investment portfolios, real estate holdings, stock options, retirement accounts, and business interests."
Anderson's expression tightened slightly.
"Mr. Moreau was hoping we could settle this quickly and amicably," he said.
"So was Mrs. Moreau," Monica replied without missing a beat. "Until she was fired from her job the same morning her husband asked for a divorce. That doesn't feel particularly amicable, does it?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.
Anderson looked at me again. Reassessing. Realizing I wasn't going to be as easy as he thought.
"I'll send the asset disclosure to your office," he said finally.