Chương 11
“How do you know?”
“The property manager called the LLC contact number after receiving his email.”
“That number goes to you?”
“To the firm’s office line since last year, remember?”
I had forgotten we changed it when Dad’s old accountant retired.
“What did they tell him?”
“Nothing substantive yet.”
I pressed my shoulder against the bathroom door.
“Can he renew?”
“That is one of the things we’re reviewing.”
“You said he couldn’t do it unilaterally.”
“I said he couldn’t make you approve something unilaterally.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
I rubbed my eyes.
“What exactly does the lease say?”
“His company has an option to renew if it gives proper written notice within the specified period and is not in material default.”
“So if he exercises it, I’m stuck with him as a tenant?”
“For the renewal term, potentially.”
“How long?”
“Five years.”
I sat down on the closed toilet lid.
“Five?”
“Yes.”
“That can’t be right.”
“It is.”
My father had drafted that lease with Mark when his company was struggling.
At the time, five years of stability had sounded generous.
Now it felt like a rope tying together two lives I was trying to separate.
“Why did you tell me yesterday not to talk about it?”
“Because I wanted to know whether he understood the deadline before reacting.”
“He does.”
“Clearly.”
“And now what?”
“Now we proceed carefully.”
I laughed once under my breath.
“I’m getting tired of carefully.”
“That usually happens right before people make expensive mistakes.”
I looked at the shower curtain.
“You really know how to comfort someone.”
“I bill extra for warmth.”
Despite everything, I smiled.
Then her voice turned serious.
“There is another issue.”
“Of course there is.”
“Mark’s company is behind on one payment.”
I sat straighter.
“What?”
“The property manager flagged it this morning.”
“How far behind?”
“Twenty-three days.”
“He told me business was fine.”
“It may be.”
“Twenty-three days doesn’t sound fine.”
“It might be cash flow.”
“Or something else.”
“Yes.”
I thought about the last few months.
Mark had complained about fuel costs.
A warehouse contract had fallen through in spring.
He had started bringing his laptop to bed again.
I had noticed all of it and interpreted none of it.
“Does that affect the renewal?”
“Possibly.”
“Because of default?”
“Possibly.”
“You keep saying possibly.”
“Because we need the documents before we say definitely.”
I leaned my head back against the wall.
“What do I do?”
“You come to my office at nine.”
“I have the girls.”
“Bring them if you need to.”
“I don’t want them sitting through divorce paperwork.”
“Then find someone you trust.”
Denise.
The answer came immediately.
“I can.”
“Good.”
“And Rachel?”
“Yes?”
“Do not contact Mark’s company.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Do not contact his employees.”
“I won’t.”
“Do not call the property manager yourself.”
“I understand.”
“Today is about preserving information, not weaponizing it.”
I almost told her I was not trying to weaponize anything.
Then I remembered how satisfying the idea had felt yesterday that Mark’s company occupied a building I owned.
I kept quiet.
Natalie heard enough in the silence.
“Anger is allowed.”
She said it gently.
“Action has paperwork.”
At seven, Denise answered my call on the first ring.
“You alive?”
“Good morning to you too.”
“That wasn’t sarcasm.”
“I know.”
I told her I needed someone to stay with the girls for a couple of hours.
“I’ll come.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
There was a pause.
“Does Emma want pancakes?”
“Probably.”
“Good.”
“I make terrible pancakes.”
“That seems like the opposite of helpful.”
“She likes terrible pancakes.”
I laughed.
When I told Emma I had a meeting with my attorney, she did not ask what it was about.
She simply said, “Can Denise take us back to her house?”
“If she’s okay with that.”
“I want to see Sophie.”
That made sense.
Sophie had been at the party.
Emma had not spoken to her since.
At eight fifteen, Denise arrived carrying a paper bag from a diner.
“I reconsidered the pancake situation.”
Lily looked inside.
“Hash browns?”
“You’re welcome.”
Emma hugged Denise without warning.
Denise froze for half a second, then wrapped one arm around her.
That almost undid me.
I went into the bathroom to put on makeup I did not need.
At eight forty, I left for Natalie’s office.
The morning traffic was ordinary and irritating.
A garbage truck blocked one lane.
A man in a silver sedan honked at everyone as though traffic were a personal betrayal.
I found myself grateful for it.
Normal inconvenience had become oddly reassuring.
Natalie’s office occupied the third floor of a renovated brick building downtown.
She met me in the conference room with coffee and three stacks of paper.
“You look tired.”
“So do you.”
“I have children too.”
“How old?”
“Seventeen and nineteen.”
“Does it get easier?”
“No.”
She sat down.
“You just get new problems.”
I almost smiled.
Then she opened the first folder.
“We filed electronically this morning.”
The words landed quietly.
For months, divorce had been a hypothetical noun.
Now it was an action somebody had taken on my behalf because I asked them to.
“Is it done?”
“The petition is filed.”
“That fast?”
“Filing is the easy part.”
I stared at my name on the stamped first page.
My chest felt hollow.
I had expected triumph.
Or terror.
Instead, I felt like someone had moved a wall inside a familiar house.
Natalie let me sit with it for a moment.
Then she said, “Service will happen through counsel if Keller confirms he’s authorized to accept.”
“Good.”
“That avoids anyone showing up at the house.”
“Good.”
She slid another page toward me.
“This is the preliminary financial preservation notice.”
I read it slowly.
No disposing of significant property.
No transferring assets outside ordinary expenses.
No canceling insurance without proper process.
No unusual business interference.
I looked up.
May you like
“So I can’t kick his company out even if the lease allows it?”
“Not because you’re divorcing him.”
