Chapter 8 - The Price of Nostalgia
Monday morning arrived with the brutal force of an arctic cold front.
Dylan spent the weekend sleeping on the bare mattress in the master bedroom, wrapped in his winter coat because the gas utility had been turned off due to a billing transfer request initiated by Amanda on Friday morning.
At 8:30 a.m., he drove his personal sedan—his landscaping truck having been locked down after the regional bank issued an immediate demand for the loan’s balance—straight to the offices of Vance Family Law in downtown Columbus.
He burst into the reception area, unwashed, unshaven, and clutching the manila folder.
""I need to see Amanda Franklin right now!"" Dylan demanded, slamming his fist onto the reception desk.
A calm, steel-haired woman in a tailored charcoal suit stepped out from an inner office.
""I am Sarah Vance, Mr. Mills,"" she said, her voice dropping the room’s temperature by ten degrees. ""Amanda is not here. And if you attempt to contact her, approach her workplace, or come within five hundred yards of her new residence, I will have the Franklin County Sheriff arrest you for violating the temporary protective order served to you on Friday.""
""She stole my life!"" Dylan shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. ""She emptied our house! She ruined my company! Do you know what the bank did this morning? They locked our commercial credit line! My crews can't even buy gas for the mowers!""
Sarah Vance smiled thinly, gesturing toward a conference room. ""Step inside, Mr. Mills. Let me educate you on the reality of your situation.""
Dylan followed her into the glass-walled room, sinking into a leather swivel chair like a scolded schoolchild.
Sarah placed a ledger on the table between them.
""Your landscaping company, Mills Outdoor Services, was formed two years after your marriage,"" Sarah began, flipping through the pages. ""While you hold the title of managing member, the collateral for every single equipment loan was secured by Amanda’s personal credit score and her hospital pension fund. She was the primary guarantor.""
""She’s my wife!""
""She was your wife,"" Sarah corrected ruthlessly. ""And under Ohio law, a guarantor has the legal right to revoke their guarantee upon proof of marital dissolution and dissipation of marital assets. Furthermore, during your week in Key West, you expended precisely five thousand four hundred and ninety dollars of marital funds on your companion, Ms. Courtney Pierce.""
Dylan swallowed hard. ""It was just a vacation with an old friend—""
""A vacation where you booked a single king-sized bed at The Marquesa Hotel,"" Sarah interrupted, sliding an 8x10 glossy photograph across the table.
It was the photo Dylan had sent Amanda from the pier. But this wasn't the low-res version. Sarah’s office had enhanced the reflection in Dylan’s aviator sunglasses.
Reflected clearly in the polarized lens was Courtney Pierce, completely topless, leaning over the table toward him with a smile.
Dylan stared at the image, his throat going bone-dry.
""We have subpoenaed Ms. Pierce as a material witness in the asset dissipation claim,"" Sarah added calmly. ""Her deposition is scheduled for next Tuesday. Do you think she will enjoy flying back to Ohio to explain under oath why your marital funds paid for her Tiffany jewelry and her luxury hotel suites?""
""She won't come,"" Dylan whispered, burying his face in his hands. ""She won't do it. She already blocked my number.""
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Sarah Vance closed the ledger with a soft, final snap.
""Courtney Pierce was an illusion, Mr. Mills. But the destruction of your financial life is very, very real. Here is our settlement offer. Sign it, or we take this to trial and expose every single bank record, photograph, and text message in front of a county judge.""
