Chương 7 - A Shocking Revelation
By 8:00 AM on Friday morning, I had already contacted Marcus Vance—not Richard’s brother, but his estranged first cousin, who happened to be the most ruthless and respected estate-and-divorce attorney in northeastern Indiana. Marcus had cut ties with Richard decades ago over Richard’s shady accounting practices, and when I told him what had happened on Thanksgiving Day, Marcus chuckled softly over the phone.
"Rick," Marcus said, his voice crisp and professional. "Come to my office at ten. Bring your deeds, your mortgage statements, and Jack's land trust agreements. Let’s make sure this separation is swift, clean, and completely transparent."
When I left the guest room, Karen was sitting at the kitchen table with an ice pack on her forehead and a mug of black coffee. She looked awful. The wine hangover, combined with the realization that I hadn't come groveling into the master bedroom during the night, had clearly shaken her composure.
"Rick," she began, her tone noticeably softer, almost tentative. "We said some awful things last night. Both of us. The stress of the holidays... it just got out of hand. Mom and Dad were being difficult, and I panicked. Let's just talk."
"I am talking," I said, sliding on my jacket. "Through Marcus Vance."
Her coffee mug hit the saucer with a loud clatter. "Marcus?! You called Richard's cousin?!"
"I did."
"He hates my father!"
"Which makes him exceptionally qualified to handle our separation," I replied, grabbing my truck keys. "I’ll have his office send over the preliminary division of assets by Monday."
"Rick, wait!" She rushed toward the foyer, but I was already out the door.
At 10:00 AM, I sat in Marcus Vance’s corner office on the eighth floor of the Lincoln Tower. Marcus was a silver-haired man in his late sixties, sharp as a straight razor, with none of Richard’s theatrical pomp.
"Let’s get right to the meat of it," Marcus said, laying out my financial profile on his mahogany desk. "The house in Whispering Pines Court has about two hundred thousand dollars in equity. You bought it twelve years ago. Both your names are on the deed."
"Sell it," I said without hesitation. "Liquidate it, pay off the remaining balance, split the proceeds fifty-fifty. I don't want to spend another night in that museum of fake status."
"Sensible," Marcus nodded, scribbling a note. "Now, regarding Richard’s firm. Your father called me an hour ago, Rick."
I paused. "Dad called you?"
Marcus smiled—a genuine, warm grin. "Jack and I go back forty years, Rick. When I was a broke law student with a busted starter in my beat-up Buick Skylark, Jack rebuilt that engine and let me pay him back in twenty-dollar installments over two years. Jack told me about the commercial lease on Route 27."
"Is that actually legally sound?" I asked.
"Sound?" Marcus laughed, leaning back in his leather executive chair. "Rick, it’s ironclad. The master ground lease for the Vance & Sterling accounting regional headquarters expires on December thirty-first of this year. It had a twenty-year renewal option, but the covenant requires six months' written notice of intent to renew."
Marcus leaned forward, tapping a document on his desk.
"Richard Vance, in his supreme corporate arrogance, forgot to file the formal renewal paperwork back in June. He assumed the landlord was just some passive local holding company that would automatically roll the contract over. The lease officially terminates in thirty-four days."
A slow, icy wave of comprehension washed over me. "So what does that mean for Richard's firm?"
"It means," Marcus said with quiet delight, "that your father, Jack Dalton, currently has the legal authority to either evict the entire regional headquarters of Vance & Sterling on January first... or raise their triple-net lease rate by about four hundred percent to match fair market commercial value. Which would effectively bankrupt Richard’s regional partnership."
I sat back in my chair, completely stunned.
Karen had called my dad a dirty mechanic who wasn't fit to sit at her table. Her father had called him an uncultured grease monkey. And all along, Jack held the deed that could bring Richard’s entire house of cards tumbling into the dirt.
"What does my dad want to do?" I asked quietly.
Marcus’s expression softened. "Your dad doesn't want revenge, Rick. He’s Jack Dalton. He doesn't have a vindictive bone in his body. He told me: 'Marcus, you do whatever protects Ricky's divorce settlement. If Richard Vance tries to bleed my boy dry in court, you drop that hammer on his office. But if Richard plays fair and lets Ricky walk away clean, we give them a fair renewal.'"
I felt tears burn the backs of my eyes. Even now, after being humiliated, insulted, and treated like garbage, Jack’s only concern was giving me an exit ramp out of a toxic marriage.
May you like
"Marcus," I said, clearing my throat. "Draw up the papers. A clean break. Karen takes her car, her jewelry, half the house equity, and none of my pension. And tell Richard Vance that if he breathes a single threat toward this settlement, his firm will be packing their desks into cardboard boxes on New Year's Eve."
***
