The Signing

"That's bullshit, Angela. You have sex with someone other than your spouse and that is cheating even if, as you claim, it's only pity sex with your lover."

A thought suddenly struck me. "Anyway, how did you and he hit on the idea of stealing money from the account?"

She flashed irritated again. "I told you, we weren't stealing it, just borrowing it, okay?"

"Well how did you and he hit on the idea of just "borrowing" the money, then?"

"Oh, I don't know. We were talking one day and the idea just came up."

"Did you offer him the money, or did he ask?"

"Well, thinking back on it, he asked if there was any way he could borrow money from the account. I said I didn't think you'd go for the idea.

"A couple of days later he asked how the money could be accessed, and I told him by you and I signing a request form and that's what happened."

"How did Carter know about the money? How'd he know I'd not notice that it was missing?"

She furrowed her brow before speaking. "I guess I must have told him how we had $7M sitting in the account, but that you would never even check the balance online for some reason, never mind take any money out."

"So, Carter knew there was $7M just sitting in the account and that, with your connivance, it was just waiting there for the taking? Who thought of the idea of him going into the bank and pretending to be me?"

An expression of shock passed over her face. "I... he did. Why are you asking me? Shit! You mean he... played me?"

"Bingo! You sad, deluded bitch," I thought to myself.

"Looks that way. How much money did you think he was going to take? It was only 60k because I happened to stumble on what was going on. Otherwise, how much would it have been? A million? Two? The whole fucking seven million, with you and lover boy running off to a tropical paradise with no extradition treaty?"

"Oh, Dave! I wouldn't have done that to you!"

"Well, wouldn't you, bitch?" I thought. I'd actually heard a recording of them talking in a restaurant in Palm Springs (so it was in public) when they had (apparently jokingly, but who knows?) chatted about countries with which the US had no extradition treaties. They spoke of the Maldives, Russia, São Tomé and Príncipe, Iran, Ethiopia and Vanuatu. I had to look up São Tomé and Príncipe and Vanuatu, as I'd never heard of them. The inclusion of Russia, Iran and Ethiopia might mean they were joking, but who the fuck knows?

"I don't necessarily believe you, Angela. After all, when Carter got enough of my money to leave his wife, where would that leave you? Would you both tearfully wish each other goodbye, perhaps with the moment enlivened with one last, tender goodbye fuck? Or would you have continued to fuck each other's brains out until you came home with an unpleasant little gift and gave me some type of cock rot?"

She flinched. "He'd never give me an STI! He loves..." she suddenly stopped, releasing she'd just blown her fantasy story of them not being lovers. Oh, well. And she'd very stupidly answered what would have been my next question. Had they used protection? Obviously not.

Fortunately, a subsequent visit to an STI clinic showed that I was clear of sexually transmitted diseases. No thanks to Angela or Carter.

We then talked about what would happen next. She was worried that she had a meeting with the FBI at their Houston building in Justice Park Drive. I advised her to take a lawyer with her and answer whatever questions they asked her honestly. See? Even though I was starting to hate her, I couldn't forget that I still loved her. But that feeling of love would pass eventually, I was sure.

She collected some clothing and some of her belongings and drove off to stay with her sister.

I called the law firm that I'd used when I'd sued the bar owner, and as luck would have it they were a full service law firm, with a family law division and for the appropriate fees (of course!) they'd act for me in my divorce from Angela.

I made an appointment the next afternoon, and they were practically salivating when they reviewed the prenuptial agreement that Angela had insisted on. The lawyer assigned to the divorce, Thomas Haydn, said: "Looks to be a 100% ironclad prenuptial agreement. If she challenges this, I doubt any judge would agree to any challenges."

I was genuinely intrigued. "But Angela had the paperwork for it drafted herself. Why would she try to challenge it?"

He shrugged. "Human nature. Call it a hunch, but I think she'll try to challenge it. After all, there's $7 million at stake, your Condo is worth, what? Just north of two million? Plus, you have Certificates of Deposit of about fifty grand. I may be wrong, maybe she'll take her lumps and leave the marriage with what modest amount her own prenuptial agreement allows her to take, but if I were a betting man, I'd bet she'll try to revoke her own prenup. I'd love for her to prove me wrong, but I'm rarely wrong, unfortunately."

Sadly, it turned out that he was right.

She stayed with her sister for a couple of weeks, and then she got a small one- bedroom apartment a couple of miles away.. Much of her shit she put in storage.

Communications between us were via our lawyers.

Thomas Haydn faced her lawyer in court and he blew her right out of the building. For every argument she put forward, he countered it with relevant case law and logic. From their demeanor when we all entered the court, I think that Angela and her lawyer, Karen Nelson, had been very pleased that the judge was a female.

Thomas had noticed this and laughed quietly. "Oh, boy! Are they ever going to be having a surprise? The judge who is handling the case is Jennifer Ward. She's been a judge in family court for 15 years, so she's seen a lot of stuff go down.

"Thing is, she despises women who pull the sisterhood crap, she hates cheaters and she has a major problem with people who try to twist their way out of prenups. Especially when it was their prenup in the first place! And with a Federal case hanging over your wife's head for fraudulently taking money from the joint access account with the man she was cheating on you with, that's not gonna go down well with Judge Ward."

He was correct. Right from the start, although Judge Ward was never openly hostile to them, it was obvious to me (once Thomas had clued me in) that she didn't think much of either Angela or her lawyer and never gave them so much as an inch of leeway. In fact, at one point, I thought she was going to find Angela's lawyer in contempt.

The prenuptial agreement was: "A model of its kind, well-researched and well-written," Judge Ward said. She asked a seemingly innocent question: "Mrs. King, I see from the paperwork of the prenuptial agreement, that you employed Mr. James Bell to draft your agreement?"

Angela looked perplexed, as did her attorney. Angela replied cautiously,: "Yes. I did."

Judge Ward said, "I'm just puzzled that, as Jim Bell did such a bang-up job on drafting the prenuptial agreement, why you aren't being represented by him in your divorce? I've known Jimmy Bell for many years. We worked for the same law firm for a couple of years, so why aren't you using him?"

Angela's face went pale, and the face of her lawyer became a lovely shade of "caught out red."

Judge Ward gave them both a knowing, almost predatory smile as she said: "But I'd guess it'd be difficult asking for a decent, honest lawyer like James Bell to try to find loopholes in a prenuptial agreement he'd only drafted about a decade ago. I mean, in legal terms the ink's not even dry, yet." She smiled, so I guessed that was a kind of judge-level joke.

She paused for a while, and said, "I'm going to deny the motion to set the prenuptial agreement aside. This means that the only resources we need to look at are what is covered by what the adulterous spouse will receive under the agreement."

She looked at Thomas, and said: "Mr. Haydn, I've seen the evidence that the private investigators in Texas and California gathered, the video and audio recordings, the sworn affidavits from staff at the Palm Springs Convention Centre itself and the attached hotel and I have to say that this is all pretty convincing evidence that Mrs. King was, indeed, having an adulterous relationship with her work colleague, Mr. Andrew Carter."

She looked at Angela and her lawyer. "Mrs. King, Ms. Nelson, do you have anything that you can present to the court by way of rebuttal to the evidence Mr. King and Mr. Haydn have presented to me?"

Ms Nelson said: "Your Honor, can I, can we, have time to go through this so-called evidence?" She attempted a sneer, but it was so embarrassed it crept off her face and scuttled off to die somewhere, presumably.

Judge Ward looked irritated: "Oh, come on! As part of the discovery process, Mr. Haydn and Mr. King gave you copies of all the evidence a couple of months ago. Do you have anything to rebut or refute the evidence of the transcripts of Mrs. King's conversations at Palm Springs when she was in bed with her lover and she told him that she loved him?

"Or someone to refute the sworn affidavits from hotel maids Mercedes Garcia, Gloria Tate or Penny Lopez that Mrs. King and Mr. Carter shared not only a room, but also a bed, and that Ms. Garcia, on one occasion, even found them in bed copulating one morning? If you can't, then I'm going to have to make my ruling on what evidence I actually do have. Do you understand? Do you have anything to say, Ms. Nelson?"

Oh, you bet she did! This was only a simple, unfortunate misunderstanding, the course of true love never did run smooth (Honestly! That's exactly what she said!) and that she was certain that if the judge could just issue an order for us to get relationship counseling, we could get our marriage back on track. "Your honor, under Texas Family Code - FAM § 6.505;. Counseling, please, please order counseling for Mr. and Mrs. King." She sounded quite impassioned about that.

I felt worried, but Thomas squeezed my shoulder and whispered, "Easy! Just see how it plays out."

The judge played for time before she responded. She took her glasses off, polished them on the hem of her robe, put them on again and frowned briefly.

"No. Sorry, Ms. Nelson, but I am fully aware of the provisions of the laws of Texas." From the expression on the face of Angela's lawyer, it was clear she realized that she'd fucked up, somehow.

"I'm not going to waste the time of my court or of Mr. King in ordering him to attend marital counseling with the woman who committed adultery while married to him."

She looked at me. "Mr. King, would you attend marital counseling with Mrs. King?"

I paused for a moment because I realized that yelling "Hell, no!" in court wouldn't be a good idea. "Your honor, after giving the matter some thought. I would not. I mean, if you made me go, I'd not want to break any court rulings, but I damn sure wouldn't want to be in therapy with my wife, my former wife that is to say. I'd sit there and not participate!"

The judge smiled at me and nodded. "Ms. Nelson, Mr. King had the marital rug pulled out from under him. He caught his wife helping her lover allegedly steal $60,000 from a settlement in a wrongful death and Dram Shop Law case following the tragic death of his parents a short while prior to his marriage to Mrs. King.

"And Mr. King is perfectly correct. The law states that he must turn up for an appointment with a court-appointed therapist, but the law doesn't say he must participate. Therefore, I will not order counseling or marital therapy. What I will do, however, is review all the evidence in this case and make a ruling in seven days hence."

Seven days later we were all back in court and Judge Ward addressed us. "After reviewing the evidence and hearing from both parties, I rule that the marriage between Mr. and Mrs. King is over, and I am granting the divorce based solely upon the adultery of Mrs. King."

That was that. A ten years marriage was over because my wife, or ex-wife, now, I realized, was an idiot who fell for a line from a conman.

Yeah, I'd got the PI to check Carter out. His wife was a petite and attractive woman, mother of his two children and a third on the way. Of course, she hadn't been abusing her husband, and there hadn't even been a sniff of a divorce between them. Well, not until I had the PI deliver a copy of my evidence pack to Mrs. Carter.

It also transpired that Carter really wasn't Carter, his original name was Andrew Minton, and he had convictions for fraud and theft before he had changed his identity and married his wife. The poor woman hadn't a clue about his duplicity.

Was it cruel of me to send her the information? Was it a case of misery loves company, when I sent her the information?

Not in the slightest. I knew that if I were in her position, I'd want to know what a fucking bastard asshole my husband was. Besides which, he had put Angela and myself at risk of a sexually transmitted disease, because I doubted that Angela was his only affair partner, and he was also putting his poor, unsuspecting wife at risk of disease, too. Maybe even HIV. I'm aware HIV is no longer the death sentence it was once considered to be, but even so, why should his wife and I be put at risk?

She contacted me via my lawyer and thanked me for being so helpful to her. She hired my lawyer to take her rat bastard of a husband for every penny she could.

A few weeks after our divorce was finalized, Angela and I had a meeting to sign some paperwork: insurances, several investments that weren't covered by the prenup that we needed to split and so forth.

She looked sad as she sat there at the conference table. "Are you happy, now?" she said, bitterly.

"That's funny, Angela, really. Not funny humorous, but funny odd. You are sounding bitter and hard done to, whereas, logically, it should be me who is sounding bitter and hard done by. But I'm not."

She sounded irritated by my flip attitude. "You got what you wanted. You are rid of me and you get to keep the condo and the $7m."

I shook my head. "But that's not what I wanted, Angie. What I wanted was a wife who was loyal, loving and true to me. Not one who'd open her legs for a sleaze bucket like Andrew Carter and help him steal $60,000 from me!"

She sighed. "I'm sorry, Dave. I know I fucked up. I am angry, but mainly at myself, I guess. I had hoped we could get counseling, but you didn't, wouldn't go for that. Not that I blame you, but I wish you'd have..." she teared up, unable to continue.

"I'm sorry, Angie but the level of disrespect you showed me, I don't think any amount of counseling could have fixed that, including getting your lover to pretend to be me to steal from me, well, from us, I guess."

"That was his idea," she said. "But as I say, I am very sorry for what I did."

"Are you still working for your boss?"

She nodded. "Yeah, Carter quit and moved on. I think his wife made him do it. But that was before she got the pack of information you sent her. From what I heard, she did a real number on him. The police were called, I was told."

"What's happening next for you, Angie?"

"In a couple of months I'll be on trial in the Federal Court. I'm scared. With the charges of fraud and of wire fraud, my lawyer said I could get up to 30 years in jail, maybe more if I get found guilty of bank fraud, too. Whenever I got into difficulties, I could always rely on you to offer me help or advice."

She started to sob so I gave her a tissue from a box on the table. She murmured her thanks.

Now, I could have just said nothing, but I didn't. I spoke for two reasons. Firstly, I still had some feelings for her, and also this could be my opportunity for revenge on Carter who had shit on my marriage to get some strange and to steal from me.

"Angie, you don't have to go to jail for a long time, you know?"

She looked at me expectantly. "How? What have you got in mind?"

"Well, you know they have State's Evidence in State trials where someone who is accused of a crime can offer evidence against a fellow accused person for a reduced jail term? I'm absolutely certain that they have exactly the same sort of deal available at a federal level, too. Just make an appointment with your lawyer to set something up. They'll probably want you to plead either guilty or no contest, and then you just tell them what you told me about Carter virtually coercing you into stealing the money from the account."

She looked pleased. "Oh, Dave! Do you think that would work?"

I shrugged. "I have no idea about that, but what have you got to lose?"

She agreed, and her lawyer hashed out a deal with the Federal prosecutor. She didn't enter a no contest plea; she entered a guilty plea and received a sentence of only five years in the Federal Prison Camp at Bryan, Texas.

Carter's attorney attempted to stymie the deal, but they failed, and with the evidence from the bank's video cameras of him pretending to be me and signing the document in the bank and the evidence that Angela gave, his decision to enter a not guilty plea blew up in his face and he received 30 years in jail and a $100,000 fine. Gotta love those federal courts, no parole for that jerk.

When they matched his fingerprints, they discovered for themselves that Carter was an alias and he had outstanding warrants under his birth name, so he got an even longer federal jail sentence.

You know something? Carter or Minton did me a favor. Life in my condo without Angela is peaceful, and I have things the way I want them.

For example, I love listening to classical music on the only station in Houston that broadcasts classical music, Houston Public Media. Angela didn't like it, claiming it was "old man music."

Whenever I tried to pick up a book, she would always seem to want me to do something "interesting" instead.

If I had a shower, changed my clothes and put them in the laundry hamper and she'd just put the laundry in the washer, she'd bitch about how she'd just put the machine on and how the dirty clothes would be in the laundry hamper until the next time the laundry would get done.

I always thought, "Who the hell gives a fuck?" but I didn't say anything because I had decided that I didn't want her going into one of her silent, rolling tantrums.

So, I'm listening to HPM. They're playing an Elegy—In Memoriam—Stephen Lawrence, conducted by Philip Herbert, performed by the Chineke! Orchestra. I'd never heard it before. Had Angela still lived here, I'd not be hearing it now!

Angela's new residence was quite close to Houston, under 100 miles northwest of here. But I wouldn't be visiting or writing her. Why would I? She was in my past.

Would I start dating again? Eventually, but I was enjoying my life as a newly single man too much for any thought of romance.

Besides, I'd not feel comfortable about dating, at least seriously, before I'd had more counseling from my therapist. Besides, I now had $7M that would make me a target for potential gold diggers.

I didn't burn the bitch or bastard, why the fuck should I lower myself to their level? Or put myself at risk of joining them in prison?

As my therapist said during one session: "Yeah, I know what happened to you hurts like hell and you probably want revenge on your ex and her lover, but if you do anything physical to him, you'll end up in prison yourself.

"And even if, speaking hypothetically, you were nowhere near him when he was mugged and had both his arms and legs broken and his testicles stomped in and had a perfect alibi, the cops wouldn't buy it. Eventually one of the people at the, for example, card game would crack and you'd all end up in the shit.

Hiring a killer might not work out so well for you. I remember reading about a hired killer who suddenly found Christ and reported all of his clients to the authorities, so you never can tell."