PART 3: Twenty-Two Thousand Dollars Missing
I glanced at the financial statements spread across the kitchen counter.
“Nothing in those documents is false, Derek.”
“Your employment records say you earn a hundred and thirty thousand dollars a year!”
“That’s my base salary. It doesn’t include bonuses.”
He made a strange sound, somewhere between a laugh and a gasp.
“You’ve been making that much money for years?”
“Yes.”
“And you never thought to tell me?”
I remembered every dinner when he had mocked my old SUV, every argument when he claimed I contributed nothing, and every time he reminded me that I lived in his house.
“You never asked what I earned,” I replied. “You just decided I couldn’t support myself.”
He immediately began listing everything he believed he had paid for.
“The mortgage, Scarlet! I paid the mortgage!”
“And I contributed to the down payment. I also covered property taxes, insurance, the roof, and major repairs.”
“I bought the SUV!”
“And I paid its insurance and maintenance.”
He stopped arguing long enough for me to hear him breathing.
“My lawyer says this changes everything,” he finally admitted.
“It changes what you thought you knew. The actual records haven’t changed.”
His voice grew sharper.
“The house is still mine. My name is on the deed.”
“So is mine, Derek.”
I reminded him that my contributions toward the down payment and maintenance were documented. Evelyn had also identified investments that existed before our marriage and had to be evaluated separately from marital assets.
Derek fell silent again.
Then he asked something I hadn’t expected.
“Is Vanessa going to see these financial disclosures?”
I sat up straighter.
“Why would that concern you?”
He hesitated.
“Because she thinks we’re keeping the house. I told her we’d be living there after the divorce.”
The truth became painfully clear.
Derek hadn’t merely assumed he could take our property. He had promised another woman a lifestyle he wasn’t sure he could afford.
“She thinks you’re wealthy,” I said.
“I thought things would work out differently.”
He sounded frightened now, but his worry was still about what he might lose.
“Scarlet, please. We need to meet privately. Maybe we can work something out.”
“You filed for divorce while I was hospitalized,” I reminded him. “You moved Vanessa’s belongings into our bedroom, and you told me I couldn’t afford to fight you.”
“I made a terrible mistake.”
“You made several decisions, Derek. You just didn’t expect me to have the resources to challenge them.”
He began apologizing, but I could no longer tell whether he regretted abandoning me or regretted discovering my financial independence.
“Please don’t do anything until we talk,” he said.
“Our attorneys can discuss the settlement.”
I ended the call and forwarded Evelyn a short account of the conversation.
The next morning, she confirmed that Derek’s attorney had requested a formal settlement meeting.
She also had another problem to raise: about $22,000 had been transferred out of our joint account during the previous four months.
The transfers had been made before Derek told me he wanted a divorce, and I had not authorized any of them.
Evelyn had obtained the transaction records. Now she wanted Derek to explain where the money had gone.
I studied the statements and recognized several dates when Derek had claimed he was working late.
His financial assumptions were no longer the only issue. Money was missing from an account we both owned, and the next meeting would force him to account for it.
When I arrived at Evelyn’s law office the following morning, Derek was already sitting in the conference room with his attorney.
He looked nothing like the confident man who had laughed beside my hospital bed. His tie was crooked, his face was pale, and he kept staring at the folders arranged across the table.
“Scarlet,” he said quietly. “You look better.”
“I’m recovering.”
He glanced at Evelyn.
“Can we talk alone before this starts?”
“Any settlement discussions will take place with counsel present,” Evelyn replied.
Derek lowered his eyes.
For the next two hours, Evelyn walked through the financial history of our marriage.
She presented my employment records, confirming my $130,000 annual base salary, along with statements documenting my savings and investments. She also pointed out assets I had owned before our wedding and records showing how those accounts had been maintained.
Then she turned to the house.
“My client contributed approximately sixty-five percent of the original down payment,” Evelyn explained. “She also made substantial, documented payments toward property maintenance, taxes, insurance, and repairs.”
Derek stared at the figures.
“You had all that money?”
“I worked for it,” I answered.
His attorney, Harrison, examined the records before asking Evelyn to continue.
She opened another folder.
“We also need to address approximately $22,000 transferred from the joint checking account into an account controlled by Mr. Simmons during the past four months.”
Harrison turned toward Derek.
“You didn’t disclose those transfers to me.”
Derek shifted uncomfortably.
“I was preparing for the separation. I thought it was my money.”
“The source and use of those funds must be accounted for,” Evelyn said. “We’re requesting the relevant statements and an appropriate adjustment in the settlement.”
Derek looked down at the table.
For months, he had treated our marriage like something he could divide however he pleased. Now every financial decision was being weighed against records instead of assumptions.
His phone vibrated.
Vanessa’s name appeared on the screen.
He silenced it, but she called again. After the third attempt, he excused himself.
Through the glass wall, I watched him pace the hallway, speaking urgently into his phone.
Later, I learned that Vanessa had begun questioning the expensive apartment and house Derek had promised her. His plans depended on getting far more from our divorce than he could reasonably expect.
When he came back, his expression was defeated.
