Chapter 8: What Dad Brought Home
He came through the door at eight-fifteen.
He wasn't alone.
The man behind him was older — sixties, grey suit, reading glasses pushed up on his forehead.
He carried a leather folder under one arm and nodded at me once, briefly, like someone used to walking into difficult situations and not making them worse.
"This is Gerald," Dad said.
"My lawyer."
Gerald extended his hand.
I shook it.
"Your father's told me about you," Gerald said.
"The makeup."
I waited for the rest of it.
"Smart hobby," he said.
"Attention to detail.
Useful skill." He set his folder on the kitchen table and opened it without ceremony.
"Now.
Let's talk about what happened tonight."
Dad sat down.
I sat across from him.
"Melissa was at Michael's apartment," Dad said.
"That's where she went after she left the house.
Michael had already called me, so when she showed up there, he texted me the address."
"He let you in?"
"He met me in the lobby.
He didn't want to be involved anymore.
He gave me a signed statement — written out by hand, witnessed by his building's front desk manager — confirming the timeline of his relationship with Melissa and what she told him about the exit account."
Gerald slid a paper across the table.
I looked at it without touching it.
"She was upstairs when I arrived," Dad continued.
"Michael called up and told her someone was there to see her.
She came down expecting —" He paused.
"I don't know what she expected.
Not me."
"What did she say?"
"She said I had no right to be there.
That I was harassing her.
That she'd call the police."
"Did she?"
"She took out her phone." He leaned back.
"Gerald had already filed the emergency asset-freeze on the separate account two hours earlier.
So I told her that.
I told her the account was frozen, that the transfer she'd attempted at five-forty this afternoon had been blocked, and that my lawyer was currently sitting in my kitchen."
I looked at Gerald.
"The transfer attempt is documented," Gerald said, tapping the folder.
"Time-stamped.
That's important — it demonstrates intent.
She wasn't just saving money.
She was actively moving it the moment she realized the situation had changed."
"What does that mean for her?" I asked.
"It means the legal position is very clear." Gerald closed the folder.
"The funds are marital assets.
The undisclosed account, the pattern of transfers, the blocked attempt tonight — that's a picture a judge will understand immediately."
"And the divorce?" Dad said.
"File Monday.
I'll have the paperwork ready." Gerald stood, tucked the folder back under his arm.
"She'll have representation, and they'll negotiate.
But the starting position is not in her favor." He looked at Dad.
"You did the right thing moving tonight.
Twenty-four hours later and the picture could have been different."
He shook Dad's hand.
Then mine again.
"Take care of your grandmother," he said to me.
"And keep doing the makeup."
Then he let himself out.
Dad and I sat in the quiet kitchen.
"She came back," he said finally.
"While I was in the lobby with Michael.
She went back upstairs, packed a bag, and left through the service exit." He looked at his hands.
"She's staying somewhere tonight.
I don't know where.
I don't need to know."
"Are you okay?"
He thought about it.
Actually thought about it, which was more honest than a quick answer would have been.
"I'm not okay yet," he said.
"But I will be."
The front door opened.
Grandma's voice came down the hallway, warm and slightly breathless.
"The restaurant had a pianist.
A real one, not recorded.
Thomas danced with me between the tables and the waiter pretended not to notice."
She appeared in the kitchen doorway.
Saw Dad's face.
Came and sat beside him without a word and put her hand over his, the same way she'd done when I was small and something had gone wrong and no words were the right words.
May you like
They sat like that.
I got up and put the kettle on.
