Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Liam
A couple of days ago, my whole world fell apart, and I felt like my life was over when I thought I had lost Harriet. In hindsight, that was a weird day. It started with me losing Harriet and ended up with us engaged to be married and having some of the best sex we’ve ever had. It almost made the agony that came before it worth it. Almost. Not enough that I ever want to think I’ve lost Harriet again.
“Are you sure you want to come in there with me and sit through all of the boring legal stuff?” I ask Harriet who is beside me in the passenger seat of my car as I park in the parking lot of the large mall. My lawyer’s office is right next door to the mall. “You can go shopping instead if you want to.”
I hold out my credit card to her, but she shakes her head.
“No, I’d rather come with you,” she says.
“Is that because you don’t trust me to tell you the truth if it doesn’t go well?” I ask.
“No, of course not,” Harriet says. “I just want to be here and hear what he has to say about it all and where we stand.”
“Ok,” I say. “I’m sorry for asking that, but I had to know.”
“It’s ok,” she says. “Come on, let’s go or we’re going to be late for your appointment.”
I know even if I am late, my lawyer will see me anyway. He gets far too much business off me to send me away, hence why I was able to get an appointment with him so quickly. But it is stupid sitting here and making ourselves late on purpose when we’re here on time.
We get out of the car, and I open the back driver’s side door and pick up the envelope lying there. I lock the car and Harriet and I head off toward the lawyer’s building. She slips her hand into mine as we come together around the car.
I’m glad of her hand in mine because my other hand holds something I never wanted to set eyes on again let alone hold. But I was told to bring it with me today and so I have.
The morning after Harriet found the marriage certificate was the morning I called Alan Turner, my lawyer, and asked him what he knew about divorce and that it might be a bit more complicated than the average divorce. He made me this appointment and told me to bring my marriage certificate and if he couldn’t help, he would recommend a divorce specialist who would know more than him about it all. I am hoping that Alan can help me because I know and trust him, but if he can’t, I’m sure anyone he recommends will be good at what they do.
Harriet and I leave the parking lot, walk to the next block, and go inside of the building where my lawyer’s office is. It’s in a shared building and my lawyer’s floors are seventeen, eighteen, and nineteen. Alan is one of the managing partners and therefore, he is in an office on the nineteenth floor.
I lead Harriet to the elevators and press the button to call the car down.
“Don’t we have to sign in or something?” Harriet says, glancing over her shoulder at the reception desk.
“No,” I say. “That’s just if you’re not sure where your appointment is. Kind of like an information desk.”
Harriet nods in understanding and then the elevator pings and the doors open. I gesture for Harriet to get in and then I follow her. A few other people have been waiting too and they get in. I press the button for the nineteenth floor.
“Fourteen, please,” a man says as he gets in the elevator.
I should probably tell him I don’t work here, but I’m literally standing at the control panel, and it won’t hurt me to press his floor too. Of course, once I do, everyone whose floor isn’t already selected shouts up. Finally, all the floors required are selected and I hit the close doors button, and we start to go up.
We stop on at least seven floors before we get to the nineteenth floor and Harriet and I get out. The elevator car closes its doors behind us and keeps on going up as we step into the lobby of my lawyer’s offices. A large reception desk with four secretaries sitting behind it involved in various tasks awaits us and we walk over to it. The nearest secretary, a redhead wearing a white blouse, smiles up at us.
“Hi. Can I help you?” she says.
“Liam Monroe to see Alan Turner. I have an appointment,” I say.
The secretary taps on the keys of a computer and then she looks up at me and smiles.
“If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here Mr. Monroe,” she says.
I thank her and Harriet and I go and sit down in the seats she gestured toward. We’ve barely gotten seated when a tall, black-haired woman in a tight black dress approaches us.
“Mr. Monroe?” she says, looking at me questioningly. I nod and she smiles at me. “I’m Lara, Mr. Turner’s personal assistant. He is ready to see you now if you’d like to follow me.”
Harriet and I stand back up and we follow Lara down a long corridor. One side is a series of glass-walled conference rooms, some in use, some not. The other side is a series of offices for the more high-up partners and their personal assistants. It seems that the more important you are at a law firm, the further away from the main door of the building you have to be because Alan Turner's office is the very last one in the corridor.
Lara taps on the door, opens it, and tells Alan we’re here. She stands back and opens the door wider and gestures for us to enter. Harriet and I both thank her and step into the office. Instantly I can see why Alan wanted this office. It’s not just about the power play of being miles from the entrance. It’s because it’s a corner office, meaning two walls are pretty much made fully of glass offering amazing views over the city.
The office is tasteful and understated. A large desk takes center stage, Alan sits behind it in his desk chair, and there are two chairs in front of it. There is a seating area with a table and four chairs around it, where I assume he holds small meetings with individual team members for cases, and there is a more comfortable looking seating area underneath one of the windows, presumably for a more relaxed chat or maybe for schmoozing clients. The third wall, the one with the entrance door, is painted cream and it perfectly complements the hardwood floor and the plush cream rug in the center of it. The final wall is lined with shelves stuffed with law-themed books.
Lara asks if we would like any refreshments and both Harriet and I say no thank you and Alan follows suit. Lara excuses herself and pulls the door closed behind her. Alan stands up and comes toward us. Harriet and I meet him in the middle of the room, and he shakes hands with us.
“Good to see you Liam,” he says.
“Likewise,” I agree. I nod toward Harriet. “This is Harriet.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Alan says and Harriet smiles at him. “Take a seat.”
Alan gestures toward the chairs at this side of his desk and as Harriet and I sit down, he walks back around his desk and retakes his own seat.
“I understand you’re looking for some advice on a divorce?” he says.
I nod.
“Yes, but it’s kind of a weird one. A bit embarrassing too, to be honest,” I tell him.
“I have children. I get embarrassed on an almost daily basis so don’t worry about that,” Alan says, and we all laugh.
“Tell me what’s odd about this particular divorce then,” Alan says.
“Well, the wedding was fifteen years ago, and the bride and I haven’t seen each other since, for starters,” I say. Alan raises a questioning eyebrow, but he doesn’t interrupt, and I go on. “We were young and stupid, drunk and in Las Vegas.”
Alan smiles this time, and I can’t help but wonder how many bad idea Vegas weddings he and his team see on a weekly basis.
“I kind of just put the whole thing out of my mind. It didn’t really affect my life on a daily basis, but then I met Harriet here, and I want to marry her. Don’t worry, I plan on keeping seeing her afterward,” I say, and we all laugh. “So obviously now I need a divorce. The problem is, I have no information whatsoever about the bride except for her being nineteen at the same time I was, so she’ll be thirty-four now. And her first name is Becky.”
“So, you got to know her quite well then,” Alan jokes and again, we all laugh.
I have to admit he has managed to put me at ease about this and I’m glad we can laugh about it.
“All marriages become a part of the public record. I asked you to bring the marriage certificate because that can help me look up the details easier with the certificate number,” Alan says.
“Wait,” Harriet interrupts. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier but isn’t Becky’s surname on the marriage certificate?”
“Her signature is,” I say. “But it’s just a squiggle.”
“Don’t worry,” Alan says. “The wedding records should be easy enough to find with the marriage certificate number, the year, the city, and your name. Once I’ve found that, it will give us the details of the bride at the time. Of course, she might have moved, changed her name, or anything, but it’s a place to start. And once we track her down, then the divorce is going to be an easy one in my opinion. I can’t see her having objections after all this time with no contact.”
“Me neither,” I agree. I would have signed divorce papers, no questions asked if Becky had reached out to me. God, I wish she had. That would have made everything easier. I would be divorced and able to marry Harriet without all this fuss and no one in my family would ever have had to know about my embarrassing secret wedding.
Alan is tapping away on the keyboard of his computer.
“Right,” he says. “I’m in the archive for the records of Las Vegas for the right year. Do you have the marriage certificate?”
I nod and hand him the envelope. I hope my sweaty fingers haven’t left wet marks on the envelope. If they have, Alan either doesn’t notice them or is too polite to point them out as he opens the envelope and pulls out the marriage certificate. He looks over it and then he peers at me over the top of it.
“Problem solved,” Alan says, putting the marriage certificate down on his desk. Harriet and I look at each other and then at him, neither of us understanding what he means. Alan nods down at the marriage certificate. “This isn’t real.”
“Sorry, what do you mean it isn’t real?” I say, not sure why that matters really. “Even if it’s a copy, surely it has the same information for you to use to find the real one on your computer.”
“No, I don’t mean it’s a copy, I mean it’s not a real marriage certificate. As in, the so-called marriage wasn’t a real, legally binding marriage,” Alan says. “There are lots of chapels in Las Vegas and the marriages completed in those are very real and very legally binding. The odd hotel has a license for weddings to be done on their premises. But there are also some hotels and casinos that do a sort of ‘for fun’ ceremony. I can’t see the point of it myself, but apparently, it’s a thing for people who want the experience of the shotgun Vegas wedding without the actual marriage that comes after it.”
“But there was a minister and everything,” I say.
“No, there was an actor playing the role of a minister,” Alan says. “And I’m sure you said vows and shit. Maybe even exchanged rings.”
“Jelly rings,” I say. “It was all we had. I mean that should have been a giveaway in hindsight, but it’s Vegas you know.”
Alan nods.
“Some legal venues would likely let you use jelly rings out there. Anyway, did this wedding take place in a casino by any chance?” Alan asks.
“Yes,” I say. “They even gave us a few free chips as a wedding present.”
“Then I guarantee you that this isn’t real. The casino wasn’t licensed and the actor playing the minister isn’t a legal officiant either,” Alan says. “It’s a daft souvenir. Just put it in the trash.”
I can’t quite believe that I’m hearing this. I don’t know whether to take it as a good thing, or a bad thing. I mean it’s good because I don’t have to try and track Becky down after all these years and get a divorce from her, but that fucking gimmick almost cost me Harriet.