Chapter 18
The neighborhood where the small office building is located turns out to be as sketchy as promised.
The streets have an empty postapocalyptic feel to them, where all the stores are boarded up with wooden planks that are covered with graffiti.
I park in the garage as instructed, and while I’m walking from the garage to the building, I hold one key between my index and middle finger to serve as a makeshift weapon.
Fletcher’s office is on the fifth floor, and there is an elevator, but it has a big out of order sign on it, so I have to take the stairs.
The building is old, and the stairs groan with each step, and the banister feels a little loose as well.
By the time I get to the top, I’m huffing and puffing.
I walk down a narrow hallway with a flickering light overhead until I reach a wooden door with a sign on it that says Ezra Fletcher. And I knock.
A second later, I hear shuffling behind the door, followed by a crashing sound, more shuffling, and a few swear words. Finally, Fletcher pulls open the door to his office.
Absolutely nothing about this office makes me feel good about hiring this man to be my lawyer.
Including Fletcher himself, who looks like he didn’t brush his hair this morning or shave.
At least his breath smells minty. He looks approximately my age, give or take a few years, although there’s something youthful about his energy.
He’s the kind of skinny that makes it look like he forgets to pause for meals, and he has a pair of thick glasses perched low on his nose.
He’s wearing a dress shirt that is almost unacceptably wrinkled, and he’s got a tie on, but it’s hanging loose around his neck.
The office itself is even worse. It’s even smaller than Teddy’s non-bedroom at my apartment, stuffed with a small desk and a bunch of overflowing bookcases. He has two large stacks of papers on his desk, and the two chairs in front of it also both have stacks of paper occupying them.
“You must be Naomi Roth.” For some reason, he’s holding a stapler in his right hand, and he transfers it to his left so he can shake mine. “I’m Ezra Fletcher. It’s good to meet you. Stefanie filled me in on the whole situation.”
“Yes, she…um, recommended you very highly.” Although I’m having trouble figuring out why.
“Did she?” That seems to please him very much. “Okay, well, why don’t you have a seat?”
I would love to have a seat, except both of the chairs in his office have stacks of paper on them. Does he want me to perch myself on top of the paper?
Fletcher seems to recognize my predicament, and he grabs one of the stacks of paper from the chair. He moves it to his desk, balancing it on top of another stack of paper. It teeters for a moment, and he looks nervous the whole thing will topple over, but miraculously, it does not.
He grins at me. “Whew.”
I don’t smile back. “That’s, um, a lot of paper.”
“Ha, yeah, it is, huh?” He surveys all the stacks.
“This hospital sent it all to me, because they think they can bury me in paperwork, and we’ll just flat out forget about the fact that they were negligent.
But I’m going through every page of this, and by the time I get done with it, they’re going to be paying through the nose. ”
There is a certain confidence to his voice when he talks that makes me forget about his wrinkled shirt and messy office and the five flights of stairs I had to climb to get here. Maybe Stefanie Gorman wasn’t punking me after all when she recommended this guy.
“So let’s talk,” he says.
He points at the now-vacated chair, and I sit down while he takes the seat behind his desk. I clear my throat. “Did Stefanie explain about the money situation?” I ask tentatively. I don’t want to get my hopes up and then have him toss me out because I can’t afford his retainer.
“Yeah, she told me.” He fiddles with his untied tie, and for a moment, it seems like he might tie it, but then he doesn’t. “Said your husband wiped out all your joint accounts. What an asshole.”
“Well, it is his money. I don’t have a job.”
He blinks at me. “Why are you defending him? What he did to you was not cool, and he knows it. He’s playing dirty, and by the end of this, he’s going to be sorry.”
“You think so?”
“You have my word.” He lays a hand on his chest, a sincere gesture I find oddly charming. “You bring that prenup?”
I reach into my purse and pull out the folded sheaf of papers. Although I’m not sure what to do with it, since there is absolutely no place to put it on his desk. Thankfully, he holds out his hand for it.
He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and flips through the papers. “Did you have a lawyer look this over before you signed it?”
I hang my head. “I didn’t. I’m sorry. I was just… I trusted him.”
“Oh no, don’t be sorry.” He flips another page of the document. “You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last. Everyone thinks their marriage is going to last forever, so you sign whatever they put in front of you.”
That’s exactly what I was thinking. I never thought I’d be in a lawyer’s office dissecting the prenup. I never thought I’d ever see it again after signing.
He lingers on one of the pages, his lips curling up. “Anyway, if you had gotten a lawyer, they would have told you not to sign this because it’s a mess. Clearly he coerced you to sign it. Did he really think this would hold up in a divorce? He must’ve been out of his mind.”
I blush. “He didn’t coerce me to do anything.”
“Naomi.” He drops the prenup on the keyboard of his computer, since it’s the only free space in the whole office. He folds his hands in front of him, and I can’t help but notice there’s no wedding band on his left hand. “Listen, I want to help you, but I’m feeling some…hesitation. What’s going on?”
The earnest expression on his face makes me feel comfortable opening up to him. After all, this guy is my lawyer. Possibly the only one left in town. “My husband is having an affair with another woman.”
“I’m sorry. That sucks,” he says like he means it. “But unfortunately, it doesn’t help us much. New York is a no-fault state.”
“But I just…I don’t think she really loves him. She’s using him.” I wring my hands together on my lap. “I don’t think he really wants a divorce.”
“He served you with divorce papers. In public.”
“Right, but he’s just sort of…under her spell. He and I have a child together. He loves me, and I love him.”
His eyes soften as he sits back. “Look, I get it. Nobody wants their marriage to be over, especially if you’ve got a kid together.
But especially because you do have a kid, you need to protect yourself.
You need money so that you can provide a good home for the two of you.
And you want to make sure the custody arrangement is favorable for you.
If you go in there unprepared, he’s going to walk all over you.
Trust me—I’ve dealt with a lot of people like your husband. ”
What he’s saying makes sense. I hate to admit it, but he’s right.
“So,” he says, “are we going to move forward?”
I don’t want to proceed with this divorce, but I don’t have a choice. If Jeremy wants this, I can’t avoid it. “Yes. Let’s move forward.”
“Great! Now let’s get to work.”
He punctuates that statement by slamming his palm down against the surface of his desk. A stack of papers topples over and flies everywhere.