Chapter 3 - The Infidelity Clause
Gordon blinked rapidly, his jaw tightening until the tendons in his neck stood out like cords. “The prenuptial agreement? What about it? It’s ironclad! My attorney, Harold Vance—Julian’s uncle, in fact—spent three weeks drafting every single paragraph to make sure you couldn't touch a dime of Natalie’s family trust! If you think you can contest it now because of a little emotional indiscretion, you’re out of your mind!”
“I’m not contesting it, Gordon,” I said calmly. “I love your prenuptial agreement. In fact, it might be the greatest document ever produced by legal minds in the state of Ohio. Natalie, turn to page fourteen, section seven, clause B.”
Natalie sat completely motionless, her eyes wide with terror. She knew what was on page fourteen.
“Read it out loud, Natalie,” I commanded softly. “Or should I have Julian read it? After all, his uncle wrote it.”
Julian swallowed hard, snatching the legal packet from the table. He flipped through the crisp pages until his eyes landed on the bold, underlined heading near the middle of page fourteen: Section 7(B): Moral Conduct and Forfeiture of Rights.
His voice wavered as he read the words aloud to the table: “In the event that either spouse engages in documented extramarital infidelity during the term of the marriage, the offending party shall immediately forfeit all rights to spousal maintenance, rehabilitative alimony, and any equitable division of assets otherwise deemed marital under state law. Furthermore... the offending spouse shall be required to reimburse the innocent spouse for all legal fees, investigation costs, and any joint liabilities accrued during the marriage.”
Julian stopped reading. He looked up at Gordon, his face pale and sweating. “Gordon... did Harold put a total forfeiture clause in this agreement?”
“Of course he did!” Gordon shouted, slamming his fist onto the table so hard the silverware rattled. “Because we thought this grease monkey would be the one cheating! We put it in to protect Natalie from him chasing diner waitresses!”
“Well, Gordon,” I said, leaning over the table, “the beauty of contract law is that words don’t care about your assumptions. They only care about signatures. And Natalie signed right beneath that clause.”
Diane’s voice rose to a shrill pitch. “This is ridiculous! Natalie doesn’t need your dirty mechanic money anyway! Her grandmother left her a trust fund that produces seventy thousand dollars a year! She doesn’t need a single penny from your disgusting business! We’ll sign the forfeiture and walk away right now!”
“She certainly could,” I noted, tilting my head slightly. “Except for the third document in that box. The one sitting at the very bottom.”
Natalie looked down into the black velvet lining. A single, legal-size manila folder remained. Across the tab, written in clear black ink, was a title: Commercial Promissory Note and Mortgage Assignment: Parcel 408-A, Ashcroft Hills.
Gordon’s face instantly lost all expression. The arrogant, condescending patriarch who had spent thirty years looking down his nose at working-class people suddenly looked like a man who had stepped off the edge of a cliff in total darkness.
“No...” Gordon whispered. The word barely left his throat.
“What is it, Gordon?” Diane demanded, looking frantically between her husband and the box. “Gordon, what is that paper?”
“Natalie,” I said, my voice cutting through the rising panic in the room like a cold blade. “Tell your mother what you begged me to do two years ago. Tell her why this house didn’t go up on the county auction block when your father’s insurance agency collapsed.”
Natalie buried her face in her hands and began to sob. Deep, ugly, gasping sobs that shook her entire upper body.
“Tell her, Natalie,” I repeated, firmer this time. “Or do you want me to read the public records?”
“Two years ago,” Natalie wept into her palms, her voice muffled and broken, “Dad didn’t lose his business to a bad market. He lost it because he took out three illegal bridge loans to cover his gambling debts at the Horseshoe Casino in Cleveland. The bank called the second mortgage on this house. They were going to foreclose in thirty days. Dad came to me crying... he said he would kill himself if the country club found out. So I went to Caleb.”
Diane turned slowly toward her husband, her eyes wide with horror and disgust. “You... you did what? Gambling debts? Gordon, what is she talking about? You told me you invested that capital into commercial real estate bonds!”
Gordon couldn’t look at his wife. He sank back into his high-backed dining chair, his face gray, his hands twitching on his lap.
May you like
“Caleb used his fleet company to buy the mortgage note from the bank,” Natalie sobbed, looking across at Julian with desperate, pleading eyes. “He structured it so Dad only had to pay minimal interest for two years. But the balloon payment... the full balance of the principal...”
“The balloon payment,” I finished for her, “is four hundred and eighty thousand dollars. Plus accrued interest and penalties. And according to the terms of the note that Gordon signed with Northstar Asset Partners, the maturity date is December thirty-first. In exactly six days.”
