Chapter Four
AVIANCE
Carla Hutchins' office is on the third floor of a building on Church Street, and it smells like coffee and purpose.
She is fifty-one, sharp-featured, efficient in the way that people who have spent decades watching marriages combust learn to be efficient — no wasted motion, no wasted sympathy, just clean and forward-facing precision.
I sit across from her desk on a Thursday morning with the folder in my lap and Petra beside me in the adjacent chair, and I lay the folder on the desk and I say: "This is everything."
Carla opens it.
She doesn't speak for four minutes while she reads through it.
I have counted the minutes of silences like this because silences have become data points to me — I now know the difference between a silence that means I'm listening and a silence that means this is going nowhere and a silence that means oh, this is very useful.
This is the third kind.
"Forty-seven incidents," Carla says. "You have the original screenshots saved digitally?"
"Backed up to three locations. My personal cloud, a USB drive that's at Petra's, and a second USB drive in a safety deposit box I opened yesterday."
Carla looks up. Something in her expression shifts — a tiny, controlled thing, like a dial being turned a half-degree. I think it might be respect.
"Smart," she says.
"I'm a graphic designer," I say. "I know how to organize visual information."
"Tennessee is an equitable distribution state," she says, setting the folder down and folding her hands.
"That doesn't mean fifty-fifty is guaranteed, but the court aims for fair distribution based on the length of the marriage, contributions of each party, and economic circumstances.
Two years is shorter than some, but you have a clear record here of your marriage being materially compromised by your husband's pattern of behavior.
That's context. It's not grounds alone for an unequal split, but your attorney — meaning me — can present it as part of a larger picture. "
"What about the money he spent on her?"
"That," Carla says, "is where this gets interesting.
" She pulls a yellow legal pad toward her.
"Assets spent on a third party using marital funds — even if the husband genuinely believed those expenditures were work-related — can be subject to a dissipation claim.
Dissipation is the term for when one spouse wastes or misuses marital assets in a way that benefits someone outside the marriage, particularly in the context of marital misconduct.
Given the documented pattern here, and given that some of these transactions appear to have been on a joint account—"
"There's a laptop," I say. "And a restaurant bill from a joint account he told me was a team lunch.
And I'm fairly sure the conference hotel in Memphis — he said he drove Vanna separately because she doesn't like highway driving.
He submitted that mileage for reimbursement but charged the hotel on the joint card. "
Petra hands me a folded paper from her tote bag. I pass it across the desk.
Carla unfolds it. "Account statement."
"I pulled three months of statements before I left."
Carla looks at me over the top of the paper.
"Ms. Cox," she says, "I want to be straightforward with you.
This is not simple. Dissipation claims require showing that the funds were spent in bad faith during the breakdown of the marriage, and there will be some argument about when that breakdown commenced.
Your husband's attorney will argue that the expenditures were professional.
Your documentation makes it harder for that argument to land, but I want to manage your expectations. "
"I understand," I say. "I'm not looking for miracles. I'm looking for accountability."
"Those are often the best clients to have." She uncaps her pen. "Tell me about your own income and assets. What did you bring into the marriage, what have you contributed since?"
We talk for two hours. I leave with a retainer agreement, an itemized list of documents to gather, and the first clean sense of forward momentum I have felt in six months. Like a current finally moving in the right direction.
On the sidewalk outside, Petra hugs me.
"You were incredible in there," she says.
"I was terrified."
"You were both. That's how courage works." She links her arm through mine. "Coffee?"
"Something stronger," I say.
"It's ten-thirty in the morning."
"Then coffee," I agree. "For now."