His voice had changed, the confidence replaced by uncertainty. I smiled, extending my own hand now. That’s right.
I believe you and I negotiated opposite sides of the Eastbrook Plaza development last year. Small world, isn’t it? Martin Goldstein, one of the most feared corporate attorneys in the city, visibly swallowed. His hand trembled slightly as he shook mine, and I knew in that moment that I had the upper hand.
Richard had made a critical error. He’d forgotten that his wife wasn’t just any woman. She was an attorney who specialized in the very contracts he was trying to use against her.
Goldstein gestured for me to take a seat, his movements stiff as he returned to his own chair. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind him showcased the Manhattan skyline, but his view today was of a woman he suddenly realized was not the pushover client he’d anticipated. I must say, Mrs. Montgomery.
Ms. Montgomery will do, I interrupted, keeping my tone pleasant, but firm. Or Alexandra, if you prefer. We’re colleagues, after all.
He nodded, recalibrating. Alexandra, then. This is unexpected.
Richard didn’t mention your professional standing. I imagine there are many things Richard failed to mention. I opened my briefcase and removed a folder, placing it carefully on the polished surface of his desk, including the precise terms of our prenuptial agreement.
Goldstein’s expression remained carefully neutral, but I caught the slight tightening around his eyes. I have a copy of the agreement here, he said, tapping a blue folder to his right. I’m sure you do, but I wonder if Richard directed your attention to Section 7, Paragraph 3. I slid my copy across the desk, opened to the relevant page, with the infidelity clause highlighted in bright yellow.
As Goldstein read, I watched his face cycle through confusion, realization, and finally, alarm. He looked up at me, then back down at the document, as though hoping the words might have changed in the interim. This is… quite specific, he said finally.
Yes, it is. Richard was very insistent about that clause when we married. He was concerned that a young wife might be tempted to stray.
I smiled thinly. Ironic, isn’t it? Goldstein removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Alexandra, I’m sure we can come to a reasonable arrangement without invoking… I’ve brought evidence.
I cut in smoothly, placing a second folder on the desk. Credit card statements? Hotel receipts? Phone records? And this morning, I received a very interesting text response from a number that has been communicating with my husband quite regularly. I took out my phone and placed it face up on the desk, displaying the message that had greeted me when I woke up.
Who is this? Richard gave me this number to contact him. I’m Brittany. Goldstein stared at the phone, then at the evidence folder, his expression growing increasingly troubled.
Perhaps we should reschedule this meeting. I need to consult with my client. By all means, I said, reclaiming my phone but leaving the folders.
I’ll wait. That’s not necessary. I can call you when… I’ll wait, I repeated, more firmly this time.
I settled back in my chair, crossing my legs. This won’t take long. Goldstein hesitated, then nodded curtly and picked up his phone.
He turned slightly away from me as he dialed, but I could still hear his side of the conversation. Richard, we need to talk. Now.
A pause. No, it can’t wait. Another pause, longer this time.
Your wife is here. Yes, in my office. He listened for a moment, his expression darkening.
Richard, did you ever actually read your prenuptial agreement? The one you insisted on? The response must have been negative, because Goldstein closed his eyes briefly. There’s an infidelity clause. 50% of business assets acquired during marriage.
Even from across the desk, I could hear Richard’s explosive reaction. Goldstein held the phone away from his ear for a moment before responding. Yes, she has evidence.
Quite a lot of it, from what I can see. Another pause. That’s not how this works, Richard.
You can’t just… He frowned. She’s a contracts attorney. Did you know that? A longer silence.
I see. Well, that complicates things significantly. When he finally hung up, Goldstein looked at me with something approaching respect.
Richard is on his way. He’d like to discuss this. Privately.
I’m sure he would. I reclaimed my evidence folders and returned them to my briefcase. Unfortunately for him, that’s not how this works anymore.
All communication goes through you, remember? His words, not mine. Alexandra, be reasonable. Thirteen years of marriage deserves a conversation, at least.
Thirteen years of marriage deserved better than a phone call ending it. I countered, feeling a flash of the hurt I’d suppressed beneath my professional demeanor. Richard made his choice.
Now he can live with the consequences. We sat in uncomfortable silence for nearly twenty minutes before Richard burst through the door, his normally perfect appearance slightly disheveled. He stopped short when he saw me, as though surprised to find me actually there.
His eyes, the warm brown that had once made my heart race, were cold and wary now. Alexandra, just my name, flat and emotionless. Richard.
I remained seated, refusing to be rattled by his presence. He turned to Goldstein. Give us the room.
The attorney looked relieved to escape and quickly gathered some papers. I’ll be in the conference room when you’re ready. Once we were alone, Richard paced to the window, his back to me.
This is low, even for an attorney, using a technicality to try to take half my business. A technicality? I repeated, incredulous. You mean the clause that you insisted on? The one designed to protect you from me? He turned, his expression hard.
That was different. How? Because you never imagined I’d be the one enforcing it? I leaned forward. Or because you didn’t think I’d find out about Brittany? His eyes widened slightly at the name, confirming what I already knew.
How did you… It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you broke our contract, Richard. Both the marriage and the legal agreement that came with it.
He ran a hand through his silver-streaked dark hair. A gesture so familiar, it made my chest ache despite everything. Look, I know this is a shock.
I handled it badly. But we can be reasonable about this. Reasonable, I echoed.
Like serving divorce papers through your attorney? Or emptying our joint investment account without discussion? That kind of reasonable? I was angry, he admitted, moving to sit in Goldstein’s chair. You’ve been so focused on your career these past few years. Always working late, always distracted.
We barely talk anymore. I stared at him, stunned by the hypocrisy. Are you seriously trying to blame me for your affair? It’s not that simple.
He leaned forward, his expression softening into the charming smile that had once made me weak at the knees. Alex, honey, we’ve grown apart. These things happen.
But we can end this amicably. The settlement offer is generous. Generous? I cut him off, my voice rising despite my efforts to stay calm.
Twenty percent of what I’m legally entitled to is not generous, Richard. It’s insulting. The prenup was never meant to be used like this, he argued, frustration bleeding into his tone.
It was just a formality. Then you shouldn’t have insisted on it. I stood, gathering my briefcase.
Or you shouldn’t have cheated. Either way, we’re beyond negotiating directly. As you said, all communication through the attorneys from now on.
Richard stood too, his height allowing him to tower over me. An intimidation tactic he’d used in the past when arguments weren’t going his way. Don’t do this, Alexandra.
You’ll regret it. I held my ground, looking up at him steadily. No, Richard.
You’ll regret assuming I was still that naive twenty-year-old who didn’t understand what she was signing. As I turned to leave, he grabbed my arm. Wait, just wait.
His voice had lost its edge, sounding almost pleading. What do you want? Just tell me what you want, and we can make this go away. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to imagine saying what I truly wanted.
For none of this to be happening. For the man I’d loved for thirteen years not to have betrayed me. For the life we’d built together not to be crumbling.
But that wasn’t possible anymore. I want what I’m entitled to under the agreement you created. I said instead, gently removing his hand from my arm.
Fifty percent of the business assets acquired during our marriage, and an equitable division of our personal property. That would cripple the restaurant group, he protested. We’re in the middle of an expansion.
The new locations in Chicago and Boston should have been considerations before you decided to sleep with a twenty-two-year-old hostess. I finished for him, watching his face pale at the accuracy of my information. How did you think this would end, Richard? Did you really believe I’d just accept whatever scraps you offered and disappear quietly? The door opened before he could respond, and Goldstein returned, looking uncomfortable.
I thought I heard raised voices. Is everything all right? Perfect timing, I said, moving toward the door. We’re finished here.
Richard has some decisions to make, and I have a deposition at two o’clock. I paused at the threshold. I’ll expect a revised settlement offer by the end of the week, Mr. Goldstein.
One that reflects the terms of our prenuptial agreement in full. I left without looking back, maintaining my composure until I reached the privacy of the elevator. Only then did I allow my shoulders to slump, my carefully constructed facade cracking under the weight of what had just transpired.
The Richard I thought I knew, the man who had encouraged my education, celebrated my successes, built a life with me, was gone, if he had ever existed at all. My phone buzzed with a text from Sarah. How did it go? Do you need backup? I smiled faintly at her loyalty.
Meeting over. Coming back to the office. We’ll fill you in.
When I returned to my firm, I found Thomas Jenkins waiting in my office, his distinguished face creased with concern. In his late fifties, Thomas had been my mentor since law school, the one who had encouraged me to specialize in contract law and had eventually made me partner at his firm. Sarah told me what happened.
He said, rising as I entered, I’m so sorry, Alexandra. I set down my briefcase and sank into my chair, suddenly exhausted. Thank you.
It’s been an educational 24 hours. Do you need representation? I know someone excellent in family law. I can handle it.
I interrupted, then softened my tone. But thank you. I appreciate the offer.
Thomas studied me for a moment. This isn’t just another case, Alex. It’s your marriage, your life.
Having emotional distance might be beneficial. I shook my head. Richard made this about business when he tried to cheat me out of what I’m entitled to.
I won’t let personal feelings interfere with getting a fair settlement. And after? Thomas asked gently. When the papers are signed and the assets divided? What then? It was a question I hadn’t allowed myself to consider yet.
After 13 years with Richard, who was I on my own? What would my life look like without him in it? I don’t know, I admitted, surprising myself with the honesty. I guess I’ll figure that out when I get there. Thomas nodded, patting my shoulder as he stood to leave.
You’re stronger than you think, Alexandra. You always have been. At the door, he paused.
Take the rest of the day. The Westlake merger can wait. Once alone, I found myself staring at the wedding photo on my desk, the one I’d kept there as a reminder of where I’d come from, and the person who had believed in me when I was just starting out.
I picked it up, tracing Richard’s smiling face with my finger. Had he ever really loved me? Or had I simply been a young, impressionable trophy to display at business functions? My thoughts were interrupted by another text message, this one from an unknown number. This is Brittany.
Can we meet? There’s something you should know about Richard. I stared at the message, my heart pounding. This was Richard’s mistress, the woman who had helped destroy my marriage, reaching out directly.
My first instinct was to ignore it. What could she possibly have to say that I would want to hear? But the lawyer in me recognized potential information, leverage I might need. After a long moment, I typed back.
The Atrium Cafe. Tomorrow. Noon.
That night, I returned to our penthouse and began the painful process of separating my life from Richard’s. I moved his remaining clothes to the guest room, deleted our shared playlists, and removed his emergency contact information from my phone. Each action was like cutting a thread that had connected us, leaving me feeling both lighter and somehow unmoored.
In the home office, I found a photo that made me pause. Richard and me at the opening of his first upscale restaurant, Montague’s, named after a combination of our surnames. I was beaming with pride, my arm around his waist as he cut the ceremonial ribbon.
That night, he’d toasted me in front of everyone. To my brilliant wife, without whom none of this would be possible. Seats.
The restaurant had thrived, expanding into a group that now included eight locations across three states. And I had been there for every step, reviewing contracts, helping with business plans, even suggesting the farm-to-table concept that had become their signature style. In many ways, the success of Richard’s business was partly my achievement, too.
I set the photo down, a new resolution forming. This divorce wouldn’t just be about getting what I was legally entitled to. It would be about acknowledging my contributions to the life and business we had built together.
Richard might have forgotten those contributions, but I would make sure the settlement reflected them. The next morning, I dressed carefully for my meeting with Brittany, choosing a simple but expensive cream blouse and tailored pants, rather than my usual power suit. This wasn’t a business meeting or a legal confrontation.
It was something more complicated. I arrived at the Atrium Cafe ten minutes early, selecting a quiet table in the corner with a view of the entrance. At precisely noon, a young woman walked in, glancing around nervously.
She was stunning, tall, blonde, with the kind of effortless beauty that turned heads. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-two, exactly the age I had been when I met Richard. Our eyes met across the cafe, and I saw recognition flash in hers.
She straightened her shoulders and walked toward me, her confidence seemingly returning with each step. Alexandra? she asked, her voice higher and softer than I had imagined. Brittany? I acknowledged, gesturing to the seat across from me.
Please, sit down. She slid into the chair, fidgeting with the strap of her designer handbag, a recent Prada that I recognized from the collection Richard had bought me for Christmas. The same Christmas, he had apparently been cultivating a relationship with this girl.
