Chapter 7 - The Deposition of David Sterling
The divorce proceedings were brutal, swift, and completely one-sided.
We met in a sterile conference room in a federal courthouse for the mediation. David looked like a ghost. He had lost weight, his suit hung off his frame, and the dark circles under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights.
His lawyer—a cheap, court-appointed novice—tried to mount a defense.
"My client is entitled to half of the marital assets," the lawyer said nervously. "As well as spousal support, given that Victoria was secretly the primary breadwinner."
Arthur laughed. It was a cold, terrifying sound.
He slid a heavy binder across the table. "Did David forget about the prenuptial agreement he demanded Victoria sign ten years ago?"
David looked up, confused. "I... I demanded that to protect my firm!"
"Exactly," Arthur smiled. "You drafted a prenup stating that what’s yours is yours, and what’s hers is hers. You waived all rights to alimony. You waived all claims to hidden assets. You thought you were protecting your future millions from a broke housewife. Instead, you locked yourself out of a billionaire’s fortune."
David stared at the document. He had signed his own death warrant a decade ago.
"Furthermore," Arthur continued. "We have the receipts for the $120,000 David spent on his mistress using marital funds. According to the infidelity clause you so graciously included in the prenup to look 'honorable,' you now owe Victoria that money back. In cash."
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David dropped his head onto the table and began to sob. It was a pathetic, gasping sound.
I felt nothing. No pity. No sadness. Just the cool, clean air of justice.
