Chapter 2 - Freezing the Assets
The chaos that followed the arrests was a masterpiece of poetic justice. Eleanor screamed, cried, and tried to physically block the deputies from taking her golden boy out into the blizzard. She was threatened with an obstruction of justice charge, which finally forced her to back down, sobbing dramatically onto the rented leather sofa.
While the police loaded my husband and his cousins into the cruisers, a female officer stayed behind while I packed my bags. As I zipped up my suitcase and walked back into the main living area, Carter’s father, Richard, stood up. His face was red with anger.
“You are destroying this family, Maya. Over a joke!” Richard bellowed. “How are we supposed to get them out of jail tonight? We don't have bail money on us in the middle of a blizzard!”
“That sounds like a problem for your family, Richard,” I said, my tone ice-cold. “But since we’re discussing finances, there is something you need to know.”
I pulled out my phone and opened the luxury property management app. I had paid forty-five thousand dollars for a four-day weekend at this estate. “Since I am the sole person on the rental agreement, and my credit card is on file for damages, I am officially terminating the reservation due to a domestic violence incident. Management has already been notified. You have exactly one hour to vacate the premises before the local sheriff returns to cite you for trespassing.”
Eleanor gasped, clutching her pearls. “It’s midnight! There is a blizzard outside! Where are we supposed to go?”
“You can sleep in your rental cars. You can find a motel. I genuinely do not care,” I replied, slipping my phone into my pocket. “And just so we are completely clear, I have just logged into my banking app. I have transferred every cent of my income from our joint accounts into a private, secure account. I’ve frozen the secondary credit cards you all so happily use for your ‘family dinners.’ The gravy train has officially derailed, Eleanor.”
“You can't do that!” she shrieked, stepping toward me with raised hands.
The female deputy stepped between us. “Ma'am, I strongly suggest you start packing your bags.”
I walked out the front door, got into the private SUV I had ordered, and drove away into the snowy night. I checked into a luxury suite at the Ritz-Carlton down the mountain, ordered a pot of hot chamomile tea, and slept for ten hours straight.
By Monday morning, the fallout was catastrophic. Carter and his cousins had spent the entire weekend in the freezing county jail because no one in his family had the liquid cash to post their bail. My marketing firm paid me incredibly well, and for seven years, Carter had downplayed my career while simultaneously relying entirely on my paycheck to fund his lavish lifestyle.
When Carter finally used his one phone call, he didn't call me. He called his mother. And because I had canceled the cellular family plan I paid for on Sunday morning, her phone went straight to a disconnected tone.
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I spent Monday morning in the sleek, glass-walled office of Elena Rostova, the most ruthless, high-profile divorce attorney in San Francisco. I laid out the financial records, the police report, and a copy of the video that Hunter had so stupidly recorded.
Elena looked at the footage, steepled her fingers, and smiled a predatory smile. “Maya, not only are we going to get you a permanent restraining order by noon, but we are going to leave him with absolutely nothing. He dug his own grave. We're just going to pour the concrete.”
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