Chapter 8 - The Bank Statements Were Evidence of Something More Complicated Than Theft
My attorney’s name was Maya Reynolds.
She listened carefully.
Then said something I did not initially want to hear.
“This is not automatically ninety-six thousand dollars of theft.”
I stared.
“He moved money without telling me.”
“From jointly accessible accounts?”
“Yes.”
“Accounts he was authorized to use?”
“Yes.”
“Marital earnings?”
“Mostly.”
“Then we need to be precise.”
I hated:
precise.
Precision felt too small for how violated I felt.
Maya continued.
“The financial conduct may matter significantly in divorce, particularly if money was dissipated or redirected for purposes outside the marriage.”
“But we need records.”
“We need timing.”
“We need what you agreed to.”
“What he represented.”
“What Florence received.”
“And whether any transfers were repayment of legitimate marital obligations.”
Fair.
Then:
“Do not call it theft publicly.”
Good advice.
“What about the slap?”
“That is different.”
I had photographed:
my cheek.
No severe injury.
Still red.
I had also written down exactly:
what happened,
when,
who was present.
Maya suggested:
document,
consider police report,
decide what safety boundary I wanted.
I did file:
a report.
Not because I expected Christopher imprisoned.
Because I was done keeping violence inside:
family language.
He hit me.
That fact deserved:
its own sentence.
Christopher later admitted the slap.
No argument.
That mattered.
The harder financial part would take:
months.
The folder did not magically destroy:
him,
Florence,
their house.
It gave:
questions.
May you like
Sometimes that is what evidence does.
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