Page 62 of Hale Damage
Last time I’d driven down to Galveston to pick up my stuff from the house, Roger had conveniently forgotten and wasn’t home. So we set up time to meet today during his lunch hour. Before I waste another trip, I park next to the store and text him.
Me: Just reminding you we’re supposed to meet at the house at noon so I can pick up my stuff.
His response comes a minute later.
Twatface: I’m out of town.
I grind my teeth together until they’re aching. This fucker. Loosening my jaw, I text back, doing my best to keep my tone professional like my lawyer suggested.
Me: Is Rose there so I can stop by? It will only take me a few minutes.
Twatface: No, she’s with me. We took a little vacay to the Bahamas.
Me: When will you be back? I’d really like to get my things.
Twatface: Not sure. At least a couple weeks.
Don’t say anything smartass, Mindy. Any communication can potentially be turned over to the judge, and you have to at least appear to act like a grown up.
With that reminder in my head, I click out of the text app and phone my divorce lawyer.
“Chase and Associates, attorneys at law,” a friendly voice chirps. “This is Jessica.”
“Hi, Jessica. This is Mindy McCoy. May I please speak with Doreen Smoak? It’s about my divorce case.”
There’s a pause before the woman speaks again. “Actually, Ms. McCoy, I was just about to call you. There was, um, a problem with your payment.”
My eyebrows lower. “What kind of problem? I wrote you a check at my initial visit.”
“Yes, ma’am. I tried to deposit it this morning but…” Her voice lowers. “The check was returned for insufficient funds.”
“What?” Those lowered eyebrows migrate almost to my hairline. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m so sorry. Do you have another form of payment?”
Remembering the debit card issue from a few minutes ago, I expel a long breath. “Let me check my banking app to see what the problem is.”
I put her on speakerphone, and a few seconds later, the problem becomes evident. And. I. Am. Pissed.
“He drained the account.”
“Excuse me?” Jessica asks.
“My husband. He emptied our checking account.” My voice is a tightrope, taut with tension and frustration, but I close my eyes and do my best to rein in my temper and panic. “It’s okay, I have money in my savings account. I’ll just transfer some over and then pay you over the phone with my debit card. Twenty-five hundred, right?”
“That’s the retainer fee, yes,” she replies politely.
But when I check my savings account, all the blood seeps from my face, leaving it numb and cold. The account balance is one dollar. One. Fucking. Dollar. All the money I’ve saved for my bakery is gone. Just… gone.
“It’s… it’s empty too,” I croak, sounding like I’ve swallowed a golf ball.
“Oh my god, Ms. McCoy. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,” I say, my voice suddenly turning fierce. “Sorry I ever married that motherfucker. Who, by the way, is currently living it up in the goddamn Bahamas with his mommy-wife.”
Ignoring that loaded statement, she softly asks, “I’m assuming your husband’s name was on both accounts?”
“Yes. We had a joint checking account that we both contributed to, but the savings was all my money. Twatface—I mean Roger—put both our names on it when he started the account, and I didn’t thinkanything of it. We were newlyweds, and I thought…” My words trail off as hot, angry tears stream down my face.
