Chapter 11 JEMMA
Jemma
‘Look, it’s not like I actually hit her.’
In many regards, Mark Wilkins was the perfect client.
He knew how to present himself: nice suit, clean shaven, elegant haircut.
Just a hint of aftershave, no ostentatious jewellery, only cufflinks and a fine gold chain that was visible when he loosened the knot of his handmade silk tie and unbuttoned the neck of his crisp Armani business shirt.
The plain gold wedding band was perhaps a little too new and shiny, but it wordlessly conveyed his absolute commitment to his marriage of eleven years—the one his wife was intent on dissolving amid claims of domestic violence.
Yes, Wilkins was eminently believable.
And Jemma didn’t trust a word that came out of his mouth.
His wife had pre-empted her filing for divorce with a triple-zero call alleging he’d attacked her. Now she claimed he had a lengthy history of coercive and violent behaviour.
The way that Wilkins illustrated his denial by miming a punch, then changing it to an open-handed slap of the air above the glass conference-room table spoke volumes. As far as he was concerned, violence was measured by the impact, not the intent.
‘Keep your hands down,’ Rohan advised quietly, evidently interpreting Wilkins’s actions the same way Jemma had.
That was part of her problem with Rohan: except for his dangerous misjudgement of Wilkins, her colleague wasn’t an idiot.
In fact, had they not been in competition for the partnership, she might have admired his legal prowess.
‘You can see Celine’s had everything she could ever want,’ the client continued, tapping the sheaf of paper that listed his assets and expenses.
The legal ones, anyway. ‘That’s evidence, isn’t it?
I mean, evidence of the way I’ve always treated her.
I’ve never placed any kind of expectations on her, made no demands.
She’s not had to do a damn thing in her life.
I took on her kid as my own, never denied him a thing.
Even bought him a motorbike for his birthday last year.
A dirt bike, to take out on the property, because Jacob’s not got his licence yet. ’
Rohan spluttered and excused himself to move to the doorway to clear his throat properly. Jemma took the opportunity to glance at her notes, although she was aware that Celine had come into the marriage with a five-year-old son.
‘I put her through rehab.’ Wilkins continued enumerating his virtues.
‘I never questioned her parenting ability, just made sure she was always supported. I have people looking after the kids, to take the stress off her. Had to do that,’ he added, as though begrudging the expense, ‘to make sure they were safe. Because obviously Celine couldn’t be trusted, even after rehab.
Not that I blame her. Clearly, she’s wrestling with demons.
Maybe even some kind of mental health issue?
’ he ended, as though hoping the accusation might provide him with a loophole.
Jemma’s notes reflected a slightly different reality: Celine had been at university interstate—ironically, studying law part-time while raising her infant son solo—when she met Mark Wilkins, who was more than a dozen years her senior.
Her highly public drug addiction had followed, within twelve months of their flashy wedding, but predated the birth of the couples’ two children.
But, whatever: everyone cultivated their story to suit themselves.
It was up to Jemma to sequence the timeline accurately, then pick and choose what GB but the knots in her stomach left her nauseous.
‘Also, that prenup won’t stand up; Rohan has to know that.
He’s giving Wilkins false confidence—but why? ’
‘I wouldn’t confront him about it,’ Tien said mildly.
‘It’s not like I can, is it? He’s done a bloody disappearing act,’ she stormed, leaping up to pace to the window. She stared down as though she’d spot her colleague strolling the street below.
‘I meant it would be unprofessional. Family law is an entirely different area, and Rohan’s entitled to his opinion on how that case should be managed.’
‘But that case is impacting my case.’ Not to mention how his manoeuvring was impacting her life.
‘You know how he’ll react if you go in guns blazing, Jemma.’
She slumped back into her chair. ‘Yeah, can’t risk blotting my copybook where Gerard is concerned, can I?’
‘Not if you’re after that partnership. Wilkins is willing to pay thousands an hour for barristers, instead of paying hundreds to have one of our law clerks process the divorce paperwork.
Lose him as a client and Gerard won’t take it well.
And just an FYI: Rohan’s also completed his pro bono hours.
The animal rights case is still on the table … ’
Jemma groaned. ‘I told you, zero interest.’ She straightened.
‘Hey, if I brushed up on my estate law, do you reckon preparing a will would count?’ The notion of sitting in the cosy kitchen with Evie and Paul, where thugs, threats and theatrics seemed a distant memory, suddenly held a surprising appeal.