Paying three hundred thousand dollars of debt before being ordered out of the house
“I should not have to handle a marriage that is being dismantled in secret,” I said.
He did not answer. He turned and walked back inside, leaving me alone on the porch.
A few minutes later, their headlights flicked on in the driveway. I stood on the damp wood of the porch, watching the sedan back out slowly into the street. The red tail lights flared once as they reached the end of Elmwood Avenue, then disappeared into the cold Virginia rain.
The rain had stopped by sunrise, leaving the neighborhood trees dripping onto the asphalt. I stood in the dining room, looking at the vintage mahogany dining table where Marcus had spread his client folders. The wood of the table was dark, polished to a dull shine that showed every scratch from our six years in this house. Marcus sat in his usual chair, his laptop open beside a plate of cold toast and a knife smeared with butter.
I set three pages of bank printouts directly over his keyboard, blocking his view of the screen. These were the primary operating statements from the blue folder I had taken from his desk the night before.
