Chapter 4 - The Strategy Session
The offices of Vance & Associates occupied the entire thirty-second floor of a sleek glass tower overlooking downtown Austin. The morning sun cut through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long, sharp shadows across the polished concrete floors.
Julian Vance was a man in his late fifties with silver-streaked hair, sharp gray eyes, and an aura of absolute, unshakable competence. He sat across from me at the conference table, reviewing the financial printouts and text message logs I had handed him thirty minutes earlier.
When he finally looked up, a slow, appreciative smile touched the corners of his mouth.
"Well, Mrs. Miller," Julian said, adjusting his reading glasses. "I’ve been practicing family law for twenty-eight years. I have seen every variety of betrayal, malice, and stupidity known to humanity. But handing over an airtight, fully documented paper trail of an ongoing adulterous affair, complete with timestamps, digital logs, and admissions of guilt, right on the eve of asset division? That is a masterclass in tactical warfare."
"I wasn't trying to be tactical," I said, keeping my hands folded neatly on the table. "I just wanted the truth out in the open where it couldn't hide anymore."
"And truth is a very expensive commodity in a Texas courtroom," Julian noted, tapping a finger against the stack of papers. "Texas is a fault-based divorce state. While adultery doesn't automatically mean he loses everything, it gives us immense leverage in property division, temporary spousal support, and restrictive injunctions. Furthermore, because he drained five thousand dollars from your joint savings account yesterday afternoon to pay for that extended-stay hotel—yes, I see the transaction alert right here—we can immediately file for financial dissipation of marital assets."
My eyes narrowed slightly. "He already moved money?"
"People in panic mode always do predictable things," Julian said smoothly. "Don't worry. I’ve already flagged it with our firm’s forensic accountant. We’ll freeze all joint accounts by noon today, secure a temporary restraining order on his business and personal lines of credit, and lock down the equity in your suburban home."
"What about Chloe?" I asked, a bitter taste rising in my mouth. "Does she have any legal liability in this? She lived in my home under false pretenses while sleeping with my husband."
Julian leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers. "In civil law, alienation of affection is no longer active in Texas, but depending on how far you want to take this, there are other avenues. Did she utilize your home resources, borrow funds under fraudulent pretenses, or commit any financial infractions while staying with you?"
I thought back to the past eight months—the loans we gave her for her car repairs, the money for her apartment deposit, the electronics she claimed she needed for her new job that never seemed to materialize.
"Yes," I said slowly. "She took over twelve thousand dollars in personal loans from us over the last year, claiming she would pay us back as soon as her commission structure at her marketing job picked up."
"And did she?"
"Not a single dime." Julian smiled—a sharp, predatory grin that made me realize why he was considered the best in the state. "Then we don't just file for divorce from your husband, Clara. We file a civil suit against your cousin for fraudulent misrepresentation and breach of contract to recover every single cent. Let's see how fast her high-and-mighty attitude holds up when her bank accounts are levied and a sheriff serves her papers at her workplace."
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For the first time since my phone had rung on the bathroom counter two nights ago, a heavy, suffocating weight lifted off my chest.
"Let's do it," I said.
