Four Minute Phone Call Exposed My Husband and My Best Friend
“That is their goal,” Margret said. “If they prove you were mentally incompetent when you signed it, or if they prove you are unfit now, the prenuptial agreement falls apart.”
I looked out the high window at the grey towers of downtown Seattle.
“He wants half of everything my father built,” I said.
“He wants all of it,” Margret corrected. “But we have the evidence of the forty-one thousand dollars he stole from your joint savings.”
She stood up and adjusted her jacket.
“Go see your mother, Laura,” Margret said. “She called my office twice while I was in court.”
The drive to my mother’s house in Madison Park took twenty minutes through the heavy noon traffic.
Evelyn’s driveway was lined with wet cedar needles that clung to the tires of my car.
When I opened the front door, the scent of lavender and old paper met me, but the house was completely silent.
I found my mother sitting in the armchair by the bay window, her knit shawl pulled tightly over her shoulders.
Her tea was cold on the side table, the porcelain cup sitting in a small puddle of spilled amber liquid.
