Chapter Fourteen
I called the credit card company when I got home, but they wouldn’t give me any information. I was merely an authorized user on Robert’s account. The representative suggested I reach out to him.
I left a message with my attorney instead.
Then I started baking.
I changed my plans for the retirement party to avoid Kathy realizing her sister-in-law was serving the same bourbon-based desserts I’d mentioned. I found plenty of alternatives, and I enjoyed the added challenge of finding the perfect replacements.
I sampled a little bourbon as I worked, having forgotten how much I liked whiskey. Why was wine the more socially acceptable choice of drink for women? I added that to my list of things the patriarchy stole, then vowed to take it back.
Soon, with the last of my cakes in the oven, I turned my attention to the mess, wiping most of it into the sink.
The drain gurgled, and the sink chugged but didn’t empty. Instead of vanishing merrily into the pipes, the water backed up and accumulated.
My finger froze on the garbage disposal switch. “Do not break,” I warned. I needed a working sink to finish my orders, and I didn’t have any more money to spend on this house right now.
A bubble rose through the darkening water, and the sink’s contents turned brown.
“Shit.” I turned off the garbage disposal and searched for a mini plunger under the sink. I spotted a leak in the pipe and a small puddle already forming there. “Shit!”
I threw a dish towel on the puddle and shoved a plastic bowl under the leak. Then I grabbed the plunger and sank it into the murky water, aiming for the drain. “Please work,” I prayed. Eyes closed, I gave the handle a few hard pumps.
To my delight, the water began to recede.
“Ha!” I left the plunger in the sink and backed away for a victory dance.
I put my hands up and shook my hips in ways I hadn’t in far too long.
I laughed at the silliness, then doubled down and really let loose.
“I am a confident, fast-thinking, independent woman,” I sang.
“I can do hard things. Nothing’s going to stop me. Oh, yeah! Go, Soph—”
A sudden spray of sludge hit my calves through the open lower-cabinet doors.
I gasped, and the remaining water vanished from the sink. Before I could process what was happening, the leaking pipe burst, and filthy water rushed onto my floor.
“No!”
I lunged toward the mess, and my feet went up over my head. I landed on my backside with a thud, both feet sticking straight out before me. Grayish hunks of dough and bits of rotten food clung to the linoleum around me while my cute white shorts absorbed the putrid mess.
I slapped my hands against the ground in outrage and received a splash of the nasty water in return. Droplets stuck to my eyelashes and cheeks. My stomach churned, and I rose for a run to the restroom, arms pinwheeling as I went.
It was official. I hated this house.
The cleanup took significantly longer than expected, but I managed to get the desserts out of the oven on time and without another slip or fall. I dialed the plumber while the baked goods cooled on my newly disinfected countertop.
The receptionist answered with a bright and cheery greeting, but that all changed when I gave my name and address.
“Sorry,” she said. “Services to this address are on hold.”
“On hold? Why?” I asked. Nothing out of the ordinary happened when the technician repaired my shower and hot-water tank last month.
“Your payment didn’t clear,” she said. “We sent a letter to the address on file with the credit card, but we haven’t gotten a response. You’re on the do-not-service list until that changes.”
My shoulders inched upward, recalling the credit card debacle at the market. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know there was a problem.”
“We sent a notice to the address on file for the card,” she repeated.
I pressed a palm to my forehead. “Sorry, that goes to another person.” That other person was Robert. “If you send the notice to me, I can pay the bill,” I said.
I had no idea how I’d do it, but I did a lot of impossible things these days. What was one more?
“Are you a renter?” she asked.
“No. This is my house. The credit card is my husband’s, but I live here now.
” I curled my hand into a fist on my head, willing myself not to say more.
The woman on the call didn’t care about my situation.
She just wanted to get paid. “I can write a check,” I offered.
“There was just a mix-up with the card.”
“You have that check now?” she asked. “I can call the bank to confirm available funds, then get you on the schedule for your new issue. You can give the technician the check when he arrives.”
“Perfect. Hang on just a minute.” I hustled into the living room for my wallet and delivered the information she needed.
Soft taps from a keyboard crossed the line to my ears before a long, silent pause.
Robert would surely throw a fit about the amount of money spent on repairs for Mom’s house, but what else could I do?
My house, I thought, correcting the mistake I made too often.
This was my place now. Mom left it to me.
She trusted me with its care. And I was doing a bang-up job so far.
In fact, I thought, if she could see me, I think she’d be proud.
“Nope.” The woman on the phone made a low humming sound. “According to your bank, this account has insufficient funds.”
“What?” I barked. “That’s impossible. Let me give you the details again.”
She repeated the numbers back to me and tried again.
“Sorry,” she said. “Same results. We accept cash, if you want to stop into our local office. Then we can get you on the schedule again. Or just give us a call when you get the banking sorted, and we’ll be happy to help. Thank you for choosing Premier Plumbers.”
The line went dead, and I stared at my reflection in the kitchen window.
How was this happening?
It only took a nanosecond for the answer to emerge.
Robert.
I navigated to my banking app, and a negative balance appeared.
My stomach roiled as I checked the amount remaining in savings.
Someone had disabled the overdraft feature meant to stop checks from bouncing.
“Son of a—” I turned the feature on, and funds began to transfer.
I tried not to vomit as I took note of all the failed utility payments I’d made with blind faith and an empty account.
Suddenly the broken sink felt like a blessing. Otherwise, when would I have realized the money in these accounts was dwindling?
I should have known Robert was up to something. He’d been too quiet.
A shiver rocked down my spine as I let my mind wander to what else he might be up to.
The too-familiar feelings of fear and anxiety rushed in to replace every measure of peace and happiness I’d had moments before. The urge to put my head down and get my walls up snapped back into place like magnets.
My breaths slowed as the ugly thoughts rolled in.
Was breaking the cycle of unhealthy marriages really worth all this chaos?
I wondered darkly. Odds were statistically in my favor to outlive him.
If I’d waited it out instead of leaving, I might’ve enjoyed my twilight years alone and in comfort.
Now I’d left him unattended and angry. That was a terrible combination.
“Fucking Robert,” I seethed.
I opened the texting app to send him a piece of my mind, but the phone buzzed in my hand. My attorney’s office was calling.
“Hello?”
“Sophie? This is Jill Gallagher returning your call.”
“Oh, thank god,” I said. “I think Robert removed me from his credit card, and he made some large withdrawals from the checking account I’m using to pay bills.”
“Yes,” she said, stalling my mini rant. “I’m aware, and I planned to schedule a meeting with you as soon as possible. Do you have some time to talk right now?”
“You knew?”
“I’m afraid so. I got wind of what was happening after the paperwork was filed. I reached out to opposing counsel for additional details, but he was slow to respond. I’ve been trying to get to the bottom of this all day. I hoped to have information for you before I called.”
I waited, flabbergasted and confused. “What paperwork was filed?”
Jill paused. “Your husband filed for bankruptcy this morning.”
If I hadn’t been seated already, I might’ve knocked myself out hitting the floor. “That can’t be right. He’s a partner at a major law firm. We have money at three different banks, investments, retirement, savings—”
“Robert’s attorney claims the losses were recent and significant due to a series of bad investments. He further claims that your husband canceled all credit cards in due diligence.”
A low, guttural moan rolled up from my core.
“If there’s a silver lining,” she continued, “it’s that all the accounts will be under scrutiny now. He won’t be able to squander what’s left in the joint accounts, and you still have access to those as well.”
“What about the withdrawals made before the filing?” I asked. “Robert took several large sums of cash from the account I typically use.”
“Cash is harder to trace, but he’ll be asked about that. I’ll make sure of it. When you get a chance, if you’ll log in and send any available statements, that would be helpful as well.”
“Doing that now,” I said, downloading the files from my app.
“I have a card for another bank I can use for now.” Assuming he’d left any money in that one.
“For the record,” I said, “Robert would never run out of money, risk it all on any kind of investment, or file for bankruptcy. We had enough money to live comfortably for years without worry, and that doesn’t include our investments.
He’s doing this intentionally. I’m certain of it. ”
“It’s certainly not unheard of for a partner to hide money or assets during a divorce. Unfortunately, the proof is often hard to come by, unless you can afford a good forensic accountant. They aren’t cheap, but you might consider it in this case.”
“Let’s do that,” I said. “What will it cost? And do you have someone you can recommend?”
“I work with a great firm out of Norfolk. Costs vary, but I’d say you should be prepared to spend at least ten grand to get started. More if they find anything and really start to dig. We can get into this more during mediation prep.”
I thought back to the dwindling balance in my savings account and knew it was now or never. “Send me the contact information.”
“Will do,” she said. “And Soph, a little unsolicited advice. I know Robert, professionally. I know his network and his type. This could get a lot worse real fast. If I was you, I’d get a job.”
I thanked her for the advice and disconnected on a mushroom cloud of outrage and fear.
Without the money in those accounts, I’d lose my home.
I couldn’t afford to pay for more than my groceries with the money I made from baking.
There’d be nothing left to pay my bills or property taxes.
I wouldn’t be able to buy more ingredients to keep baking, or to put gas in my car.
I’d be stuck in this house like my mother, but without a choice.
Panic welled in me, and my cowardly inner voice taunted. Told you we couldn’t make it without him. Told you the punishment for leaving would be far worse than staying put. No one wins against Robert, and there’s no going back now.
I jumped when her text arrived moments later. I told my inner coward to shut up. Then I hired the forensic accountant.
With a little luck, Robert would take note of exactly where that money went and think twice before continuing this bankruptcy charade.