Chapter 6 - The Lawyer and the Reality Check
The conference room of Harrison & Miller Family Law smelled faintly of old paper, leather polish, and expensive floor wax. Sunlight poured through the high-rise windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing over a polished mahogany table.
Grant sat across from Marcus Miller, a seasoned attorney with silver-streaked hair and an expression carved from granite. Marcus had reviewed the initial financial disclosures, the deed to the Maple Street house, and the brief text messages Cassidy had sent over the past forty-eight hours—messages ranging from frantic apologies to thinly veiled threats about asset division.
"Well, Mr. Mercer," Marcus said, closing the manila folder with a soft click. "Legally speaking, you are in a very strong position. Adultery in an Indiana court doesn't automatically strip someone of property rights, but given the sudden dissipation of marital assets for various unverified expenses over the past six months—which we discovered through your joint statements—and the undeniable circumstances of that night at your friend's house, your wife's counsel is going to advise her to settle quickly and quietly."
Grant nodded slowly, staring at his reflection in the dark mahogany table. "I don't want a bloodbath, Marcus. I just want a clean break. I want my name off the mortgage, my truck, my savings, and my peace of mind."
"Understandable. Most men in your position want vengeance," Marcus observed, leaning back in his leather chair and studying his client with sharp, analytical eyes. "Instead, you look... tired, but resolute."
"Vengeance takes energy," Grant replied quietly. "Energy I'd rather spend rebuilding my life from scratch. She can have the house, the debt, and the illusion she cared so much about protecting. I just want out."
Marcus let out an approving hum, sliding a stack of preliminary paperwork across the table. "I respect that. Sign these authorization forms, and my office will serve her by tomorrow morning. She won't see it coming because she's probably expecting you to cave like you always have."
That was the word again. Cave. For years, Grant’s flexibility and patience had been exploited as weakness. By refusing to engage in her emotional warfare, by cutting off the supply of drama and validation she craved, he had weaponized his silence against her.
As he walked out of the downtown office building into the crisp afternoon air, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out. An email from Cassidy’s personal account.
May you like
Subject: Please, Grant. Just five minutes.
He didn't even open it. With a single tap of his thumb, he hit Archive, followed by Block. The digital umbilical cord was finally cut.
