This is where my calm, collected approach almost broke. That was a line. I felt a hot, white flash of anger. But then, the numbers guy took back over. Emotion is a liability.
I breathed. I made a plan. I didn't call her. I didn't call him. I called the police.
I filed a full police report complete with serial numbers, photos, and recent appraisal documents. I gave them the storage facility's security footage, which clearly showed Terry carrying my property out while Jacqueline directed him. I gave them his name and Jacqueline's. It was no longer a messy divorce. It was grand larceny.
Terry, the free-spirited artist, suddenly found himself staring down a felony charge. He called me. This time there was no hey man camaraderie. It was pure pants-wetting panic. You called the cops on me?
On Jacqueline? Are you insane? He shrieked into the phone. You stole $30,000 worth of my property, Terry. What did you think was going to happen?
It was a misunderstanding. We were just going to hold them to make you be reasonable about the IRA money. Jacqueline said they were half hers anyway. They are not marital property, Terry. They are premarital assets, fully documented.
You committed a crime and you dragged her into it. He was breathing hard. You have to call them off, Arthur. Please. This will ruin me.
I can't have a record. We'll bring them back. They're at my apartment right now. They're fine. No.
What do you mean, no? We'll give them back. The time for that is over. You wanted to play hardball. Now you're playing with the pros.
Talk to the police, Terry. And I'd advise you to get a much much better lawyer. I hung up. They thought my quiet nature was weakness. They mistook my methodical approach for passivity.
They don't know that the quietest numbers can often tell the most brutal stories. And their balance sheet was about to go deep into the red. It's over. The last few months were a slow-motion demolition, and I just held the camera. The criminal charges were the lever that moved the whole world.
Faced with a felony, Terry crumbled. His public defender told him he had no case. He agreed to return the synthesizers, which he did under police supervision, and testify against Jacqueline in exchange for the charges being reduced to a misdemeanor. The great artist, the passionate lover, revealed himself to be just another coward. Jacqueline was left holding the bag.
She ended up with 2 years of probation, a hefty fine, and a criminal record for her part in the theft. This development completely changed the divorce proceedings. We had our first and only settlement hearing. The judge was initially skeptical of my opening move with the IRA, and her lawyer tried to paint me as a financial bully. The judge even gave Christian a hard time about the aggressive nature of using the POA.
For a moment, a cold dread washed over me. What if my strategy backfired? But then Christian presented his timeline. He started with Terry's phone call, where he admitted they had a plan for the money. He showed the emails to my boss, and he ended by placing the official court document detailing Jacqueline's conviction for theft on the table.
The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. The judge looked from the conviction to Jacqueline, and his expression hardened. Her claims of being a victim evaporated. She was now on the record, a criminal who had stolen from me during the divorce process. Her leverage was gone.
We settled that day. Christian was a killer. The house, it was sold. After paying off the mortgage, the court approved our motion to have the two missed payments and associated penalties deducted entirely from her share of the equity. The IRA, this was the big one.
The judge ruled it a marital asset, but he also ruled that Jacqueline's conduct, her attempt to get me fired, and the outright theft, was egregious. He awarded me a larger portion of the legal fees to be paid from her share of the marital assets. Her final take from the $212 she thought was hers to play with after her legal fees, my awarded legal fees, and the fine for the theft were deducted, she netted just under $58,000. She detonated her life for the price of a mid-range sedan. The aftermath.
The last I heard from a mutual acquaintance is that Jacqueline is living in a small apartment across town. Terry is long gone. Their grand romance, built on the foundation of my money, collapsed the second the money disappeared. Jacqueline had to get a job. She's doing entry-level marketing for a small firm.
She's broke, she's alone, and she's a convicted criminal. I got one final email from her about a month ago. It wasn't apologetic, it wasn't hateful, it was pathetic. She asked if I could lend her $5,000 to cover a deposit and first month's rent on a better place. She said she deserved at least that for the years she gave me.
The entitlement, it seems, is the last thing to die. I didn't reply. I just added the email to the file I'd labeled contingencies, and then I deleted it. As for me, I'm good, better than good. I bought a new condo downtown.
The credit score took a small, temporary hit from the credit card inquiries and shifting debt ratios, but it's already recovering. My synthesizers are set up in the spare bedroom, and I've been making more music than I have in years. The ordeal cost me money and headaches, but it bought my freedom. It showed me that my calm, methodical nature isn't a bug, it's a feature. I don't feel vengeful or triumphant, I just feel balanced.
The books are closed, the numbers all add up. I didn't destroy her life, I just stopped financing a life that didn't include me. She, and she alone, was responsible for the demolition. She just expected me to pay for it. But I'm a numbers guy, and that was one expense I was never going to approve.