Chapter 8: He Thought He Could Still Win
Jordan made his move on a Thursday.
I found out from Grace, who called me at eight in the morning, her voice carrying the particular flatness she used when she was angry and being professional about it.
"He filed an emergency motion yesterday afternoon," she said.
"He's claiming you violated the terms of the divorce agreement by hiring a private investigator to surveil him and by making contact with third parties in a coordinated effort to damage his reputation and his business interests."
I was standing in my kitchen.
Emma was in her high chair.
The older kids were getting ready for school upstairs.
"He's trying to go on offense," I said.
"He's trying to scare you into settling before we can get the fraud case in front of a judge.
If he can make this look like you're the one acting in bad faith, he muddies the water." Grace paused.
"It won't work.
But it will cost time and money to respond to, which is exactly what he's counting on."
"What do we do?"
"We file our response today.
I've already drafted it.
And I'm filing the asset fraud petition at the same time.
We go forward on both tracks simultaneously." Another pause.
"Nora, I need you to be prepared for him to escalate.
He knows what's coming.
He's going to try to make you flinch."
He tried that afternoon.
I was picking up my son from school when Jordan pulled up behind me in the parking lot.
He got out of his car and walked over before I could drive away.
My son was already in the back seat.
Jordan leaned down to the passenger window.
His face was calm.
Arranged.
"Hey, bud," he said to our son through the glass.
"Give me a second with your mom, okay?"
Our son looked at me.
I nodded once.
Jordan straightened up.
I got out of the car and walked a few steps away, far enough that our son couldn't hear clearly.
"This needs to stop," Jordan said.
Low.
Controlled.
"I know about Sylvie.
I know you went to see her.
Whatever she told you, whatever she gave you, it won't hold up.
She's unstable.
She has a history of making false claims against men she's been involved with.
My lawyer already has documentation."
"Does your lawyer know about Maya?" I said.
Something moved across his face.
Fast.
Gone before it fully formed.
"I don't know what she told you—"
"She's three years old, Jordan.
She has your jawline." I kept my voice very quiet.
"I'm not going to use Maya against you.
That's not what this is about.
But I want you to understand that I know.
And I want you to understand that Sylvie is not unstable.
She's a woman you lied to and threatened, and she kept recordings of you describing exactly how you committed financial fraud against your own family."
His jaw tightened.
"You're making a mistake," he said.
"You made the mistake," I said.
"Four years ago, at minimum.
Probably longer.
I'm just the one who finally found the paper trail."
He stepped closer.
Not aggressive.
Careful.
The way he used to stand when he wanted me to feel like he was being reasonable and I was being difficult.
"I can still make this very hard for you," he said.
"Custody.
The house.
I have resources you don't.
I can drag this out for years."
"You can try," I said.
"But Grace is filing the fraud petition today.
And Sylvie's recordings are already with our legal team.
And your mother—" I watched his face "—has been advised by her own attorney that cooperation is in her best interest."
He went very still.
"My mother has nothing to do with this."
"She signed documents, Jordan.
She knew about Meridian.
Her attorney explained her exposure to her yesterday." I looked at him steadily.
"She called Grace this morning.
She's cooperating."
The parking lot was quiet.
A few other parents moved past us toward their cars, not paying attention.
Jordan looked at me for a long moment.
Then he said, very quietly: "I built everything we had."
"You took everything we had," I said.
"And you hid it.
And you lied.
And you did it for four years while I was home raising your children." I picked up my keys.
"Talk to your lawyer."
I got back in the car.
My son looked at me in the rearview mirror.
"You okay, Mom?"
"I'm okay, sweetheart," I said.
And I pulled out of the parking lot, and I didn't look back.
But that night, after the kids were asleep, I sat at the kitchen table and let myself shake for a little while.
Because Grace had been right.
He was going to try to drag it out.
And it was going to be hard.
And there was going to be more before there was less.
My phone lit up on the table.
A text from Diane.
*I'm sorry, Nora.
I should have told you.
I know that doesn't fix anything.
I'm sorry.*
I looked at it for a long time.
May you like
I didn't reply.
But I didn't delete it either.
