“We can file within forty-eight hours. In the meantime, do not argue with him. Do not meet him alone. Do not discuss settlement directly. Send everything to me.”
Naomi stood. “Good.”
As she stepped out of the elevator into the lobby, her work phone buzzed.
Derek: You only said Okay. That’s it? We need to talk like adults. Call me.
Naomi typed carefully.
All communication should go through my attorney, Rebecca Harrington at Harrington & Associates. Her office will contact yours.
He called within thirty seconds.
She declined.
Then she documented the attempt.
By noon, he had called four more times and sent six messages.
Naomi, are you serious right now?
You hired a lawyer already?
This is ridiculous.
We can handle this ourselves.
You’re making this harder than it needs to be.
Each message went into the file.
At 2:00 p.m., James Crawford called Naomi into his office. He was sixty, respected, and had the kind of calm authority that made young employees sit straighter. He gestured for her to sit.
“I wanted to talk about the Fitzgerald account,” he said. “They specifically requested you lead the rebrand.”
Naomi felt something bright cut through the grayness of the day. “I’d be honored.”
“They doubled the contract value after yesterday’s presentation. The board noticed.” James folded his hands. “There’s a senior marketing director role opening next quarter. Your name is at the top of the list.”
For the first time since Derek’s text, Naomi almost laughed.
Not from humor.
From timing.
While her husband was trying to reduce her to an abandoned wife, the world outside him was expanding.
“I’m ready,” she said.
“I thought you might be.”
That evening, Naomi toured a luxury apartment downtown. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A modern kitchen. A second bedroom perfect for an office. Rooftop terrace. Twenty-four-hour security.
“I’ll take it,” she told the leasing agent.
“How soon would you like to move in?”
“As soon as possible.”
Then she met a realtor named Candace at the house.
Candace walked through each room with professional interest. “Beautiful property. Great location. You could get around six hundred thousand in this market, maybe more if we stage it well.”
Naomi and Derek had bought it for four hundred thousand.
“How fast can it sell?”
“Two or three weeks.”
“Good.”
Her work phone buzzed as Candace left.
Derek: Tasha knows a lawyer. We should all sit down together and work this out reasonably. No need to spend money on attorneys when we can handle it ourselves.
Naomi stared at the name.
Tasha.
So now he was openly bringing his affair partner into the divorce. The audacity was almost impressive.
She forwarded the message to Rebecca.
Husband confirms girlfriend’s involvement and suggests joint meeting with mistress and myself.
Rebecca responded within two minutes.
Gold. Do not meet. Do not engage. Keep them talking.
Naomi typed back to Derek.
I will not be meeting with you or your girlfriend. All communication goes through my attorney.
Then she blocked him on the work phone too.
If he wanted access to her now, he would have to pay someone by the hour.
That night, while packing the guest room, Naomi found another gift from his carelessness.
In the back of the closet, beneath old tax folders and a broken printer box, sat a bank envelope she had never seen before. Inside were statements for an account in Derek’s name only.
Balance: $73,418.
She photographed every page, scanned them, and placed the envelope exactly where she found it.
Rebecca’s reply came quickly.
We’ve got him.
Naomi slept better that night than she had in months.
Discovery began like weather changing pressure in a room.
Rebecca filed the divorce petition with a request for full asset accounting, temporary financial restraints, reimbursement for dissipated marital assets, and forensic review of Bennett Consulting. Derek was served at his office on a Thursday afternoon.
By 2:42 p.m., Rebecca texted:
Service completed. Subject surprised and upset. Tried to refuse papers. Delivery confirmed.
Naomi was in her office reviewing Fitzgerald copy when the message arrived. She smiled once and returned to work.
Ten minutes later, Derek’s lawyer attempted to call her directly.
“Miss Bennett, this is Greg Samson. I represent Derek Bennett. I thought perhaps we could avoid expensive litigation by—”
“No,” Naomi said.
“Excuse me?”
“All communication goes through Rebecca Harrington. Do not contact me directly again.”
She hung up.
Rebecca laughed when Naomi told her. “They’re nervous already.”
“How nervous should they be?”
“Very. The forensic accountant reviewed the initial business records. We’re seeing potential concealment close to two hundred thousand dollars.”
Naomi leaned back. “Two hundred?”
“Possibly more. Riverside Investments is not a registered entity. The quarterly payments appear to have routed through a private account. There are also unreported client payments and inflated expenses.”
“So he was hiding money before he even asked for divorce.”
“Yes.”
Naomi looked out at the city below.
Derek had not just left her. He had planned to leave her smaller, poorer, and confused.
A person could mourn betrayal.
But fraud deserved paperwork.
The first time Tasha called, Naomi was standing in the elevator of her new apartment building, carrying a box of books.
“Is this Naomi?” a young woman asked.
“Who is this?”
“Tasha Phillips.”
Naomi stepped out into the hallway and stopped walking.
“I think you know who I am,” Tasha said.
“I do.”
“Look, Derek said this is getting ugly, and I thought maybe if we talked woman to woman, we could work something out.”
Naomi felt the old Naomi stir for half a second—the polite one, the peacekeeper, the woman trained to make discomfort easier for everyone else.
She let that woman die quietly.
“Work what out?”
“I just think lawyers make everything worse. Derek said you’re asking for the house and business money and all these things. He’s really stressed. We’re just trying to move forward.”