Chapter 61 Picking up my things
Vivienne's POV
"Excellent," Monica said, standing up. "We'll be in touch."
She gestured for me to stand. I picked up the unsigned divorce papers and followed her toward the door.
"Mrs. Moreau," Anderson called after me.
I stopped and turned back.
"Mr. Moreau really did want this to be simple," he said. "Fighting him will only make this more difficult for everyone involved. Including you."
Was that a threat? It sure sounded like one.
But before I could respond, Monica stepped between us.
"Mr. Moreau should have thought about that before he terminated her employment without cause," she said coldly. "Have a good day, Mr. Anderson."
We walked out of that office with our heads high.
And for the first time since last night, I felt something other than grief and shock and confusion.
I felt powerful.
We didn't speak until we were outside on the street. The afternoon sun was bright and harsh, making me squint after the dim lighting of Anderson's office. My hands were shaking slightly, adrenaline still pumping through my system.
Sarah let out a long breath. "That was intense."
"You did great there," Monica said to me. "You stayed calm, and I was expecting you to go against everything we talked about but you didn't and you showed them you're not going to roll over."
"What happens now?" I asked.
"Now we wait for the asset disclosure," Monica said. "They're legally required to provide it within seven days. Once we see what we're actually dealing with, we can formulate a proper response and counteroffer."
"And if they don't provide it?"
Monica smiled. "Then we file a motion to compel discovery and they look bad in front of a judge. Trust me, they'll provide it. Anderson knows what he's doing, even if he was hoping you wouldn't."
We started walking back toward the coffee shop. My mind was racing, trying to process everything that had just happened.
"Two million dollars," I said out loud. "He thought I would just take two million and disappear."
"It's a classic lowball offer," Monica explained. "They start low, hoping you'll be desperate enough or uninformed enough to accept it. Then they save their client millions in the actual settlement."
"How much do you think I'm actually entitled to?" I asked.
Monica was quiet for a moment, calculating. "Without seeing the full asset disclosure, I can't give you an exact number.
But based on what you've told me about his position, his salary, the company's growth over three years... we're probably looking at somewhere between fifteen and thirty million dollars in marital assets. Maybe more."
I stopped walking. "Thirty million?"
"Maybe more," Monica repeated. "Community property laws are very clear. Half of everything acquired during the marriage belongs to you. And from what you've described, Raphael Moreau acquired quite a lot during your marriage."
My head was spinning. Thirty million dollars. Half of everything. This wasn't about the money, not really. I would have walked away with nothing if he had just been honest with me. If he had ended things with kindness instead of cruelty. If he hadn't fired me and tried to erase me like I never mattered.
But he didn't do any of those things.
So now it was about the principle. About not letting him steamroll me. About standing up for myself for the first time in three years.
And that money can do a whole of things for me. I can get a new life, a new source of income, my own company with that money.
"What about my stuff at the apartment?" I asked. "My clothes and personal things?"
"You have every legal right to retrieve them," Monica said. "You're still legally married and it's still your marital residence. He cannot prevent you from entering or taking your belongings."
"I really don't want to see him," I admitted.
Sarah spoke up. "What time does he usually get home from work?"
I thought about it. Rapheal's schedule was predictable. He always stayed at the office until at least seven, sometimes later.
"He's never home before seven," I said.
Sarah checked her phone. "It's almost four now. That gives us three hours. Let's go get your stuff right now while he's still at the office."
The thought of going back to that apartment made my stomach turn. But Sarah was right. Better to go now, get what I needed, and get out before he came home.
"Okay," I said. "Let's do it."
Monica gave me her card again, this time writing her personal cell phone number on the back.
"Call me if anything happens. If he shows up, if there's any confrontation, anything at all. Don't engage with him directly. Just call me."
I took the card and nodded.
Sarah and I took a cab back to the penthouse. The building looked the same as it did this morning. Same doorman. Same marble lobby. Same elevator with mirrors on all sides. But everything feels different now. Like I was visiting a place I used to live instead of going home.
The doorman, Robert, looked surprised to see me.