Chapter 3 - The Stakeout
The heater in Nora’s vintage Lincoln Town Car smelled faintly of old peppermint and burning dust, but it was warm, and Lily was sleeping peacefully in her car seat in the back, cocooned in a pink fleece blanket I had washed three times with lavender detergent.
"You're enjoying this," Nora said, keeping her eyes fixed on the entrance of the Meridian-Kessler townhouse across the wet, glistening street.
"Enjoying is a strong word," I replied, sipping lukewarm black coffee from a cardboard cup. "Let's call it... deeply educational."
"Most women in your position curl up in a ball and cry for six months," Nora observed, tapping a manicured fingernail against the steering wheel. "They take the lowball settlement out of exhaustion. They let the cheating spouse keep the stock options because they just want the nightmare to end."
"I used to be that person," I said, watching the front door of the townhouse. "Before I spent seventy-two hours straight in a labor and delivery ward watching my husband text someone named 'L' about wine pairings while I was having contractions every four minutes. Something in my brain snapped, Nora. The old Hannah died in that hospital room. What’s left is entirely functional, highly focused, and exceedingly litigious."
Nora chuckled, a low, gravelly sound. "I like new Hannah. New Hannah is going to cost Ethan Mercer his entire professional existence."
At that moment, the front door of the townhouse opened.
Ethan stepped out first, wearing a rumpled trench coat over his work clothes, looking frantically over his shoulder. Lauren followed a second later, carrying a cardboard moving box marked *KITCHEN UTENSILS* in black marker.
"Look at them," Nora murmured, raising a compact pair of Nikon binoculars. "Domestic bliss in a four-thousand-square-foot cage of debt."
"They're moving out?" I asked.
"Evicted, technically," Nora corrected. "The mortgage company issued a notice of default this morning because the initial down payment was flagged as fraudulent transfer of funds from a joint marital estate under injunction. The title company caught it, froze the deed, and the seller canceled the contract. They have nowhere to go."
Through the binoculars, I watched the scene unfold on the front porch.
Ethan was gesturing wildly, his face bright red, pointing at the moving box in Lauren’s arms. Lauren dropped the box right on the concrete porch. The sound of breaking ceramic echoed faintly across the quiet residential street.
She shouted something at him, thrust her left hand into his face—presumably attempting to pull off the placeholder ring he had given her—and then marched down the steps toward a silver sedan parked at the curb.
Ethan didn't follow her. He slumped against the wooden porch pillar, burying his face in his hands, exactly as he had done in the kitchen six weeks ago when he told me he wasn't happy.
"He always does that," I said softly.
"Does what?" Nora asked.
"Plays the victim when the bill comes due. When we bought our first car together, he didn't check the transmission. When it broke down on the interstate three weeks later, he sat on the guardrail and cried until I called the tow truck and negotiated the repair fee with the mechanic. I thought it was sensitivity back then. Now I realize it’s just total incapacity to handle reality."
"Well," Nora said, putting the Lincoln into drive. "Reality is about to hit him with the force of a freight train. Tomorrow is the emergency injunction hearing. We’re asking the judge to not only award you the primary residence, full custody, and spousal support, but to place a lien on his future earnings for the next twenty years to cover Lily’s education fund."
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"Twenty years?" I smiled, looking back at Lily, who stirred slightly, letting out a tiny, contented sigh. "Make it twenty-one. Let's cover her graduate school, too."
***
