Chapter 8 - Edith’s Last Bargain
Jeremy's divorce petition was twenty-eight pages long.
According to it, he had “substantially contributed” to the maintenance and appreciation of Granada Terrace and was therefore entitled to an equitable share of its increased value.
Lawrence read the paragraph twice.
Then he removed his glasses.
“He's ambitious.”
I stared at him.
“Can he actually get anything?”
“He can ask.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Lawrence smiled slightly.
“The trust structure is strong. Your father transferred the property before your marriage. Jeremy never became a beneficiary. But marital funds were used for some expenses, so he'll argue that the marriage contributed to appreciation.”
“Marital funds?”
“My salary?”
“Income earned during marriage can create arguments depending on how assets were handled.”
I groaned.
“Even though he stole against it?”
“That will not help him.”
Jeremy also asked for temporary spousal support.
That part almost made me admire his nerve.
He had spent years complaining that my career emasculated him.
Now he wanted my career to support him after divorce.
But there was a problem neither of us expected.
The insurance company delayed payment on the fire damage because investigators were examining whether an insured household member had intentionally caused the fire.
Technically Jeremy had lived in the home.
If the policy exclusion applied, rebuilding could become a long legal fight.
For the first time since leaving, I considered selling the property as-is.
Cynthia noticed I was distracted at work.
“Go home,” she said.
“I don't have one right now.”
She stopped.
Then pointed toward the chair across from her desk.
“Sit.”
I did.
“Do you want advice from your boss or from a divorced woman?”
“Whichever is cheaper.”
She smiled.
“Divorced woman.”
I waited.
“When my marriage ended, I fought over a lake cabin for sixteen months.”
“Did you love the cabin?”
“No. I hated mosquitoes and boats.”
“Then why fight?”
“Because my ex wanted it.”
I laughed.
“So what happened?”
“I won.”
“That sounds good.”
“I sold it six weeks later.”
I stared at her.
Cynthia leaned forward.
“Don't build your next life around preventing Jeremy from having things.”
That stayed with me.
Granada Terrace mattered.
But not because Jeremy wanted it.
Because my father had placed love inside every legal page protecting it.
Because I had renovated it.
Because the mango tree still lived.
Because somewhere underneath the smoke damage was the first place I had believed might be mine forever.
“I want the house,” I said.
“Then keep it because you want it.”
Not because Jeremy didn't.
That distinction changed everything.
Meanwhile, the criminal investigation expanded.
Victor Hale cooperated after learning the documents presented to him might be fraudulent.
He turned over recordings from his restaurant meeting with Jeremy, Edith, Mason, and Sloane.
Unlike me, Victor operated his business under conditions that included written consent to recorded meetings.
In one recording, Jeremy said:
“If the divorce happens before the lender files anything, I can argue the Granada property is marital.”
Victor replied:
“Is it?”
Jeremy laughed.
“It will be when the lawyers are done.”
The recording damaged his divorce claim before the hearing even began.
Then came Edith's last bargaining chip.
She requested a meeting.
This time at Lawrence's office.
Her attorney attended.
Edith placed a bank statement on the table.
An account in the Cayman Islands.
Balance: $219,481.
I stared at her.
“I thought you said only one hundred forty-six thousand remained.”
“I lied.”
Her lawyer closed his eyes.
Lawrence didn't move.
“Edith,” he said, “your attorney probably advised you not to begin this meeting by admitting another false statement.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you doing it?”
“Because I'm done.”
She pushed another folder toward me.
“The money isn't all from Blue Meridian.”
I opened it.
Some transfers went back nine years.
Before Jeremy and I were married.
Edith had been hiding money for nearly a decade.
From creditors.
From tax authorities.
From family.
From everyone.
“How much?”
“At the highest point? Around four hundred thousand.”
I stared at her.
“You said Jeremy's father left you nothing.”
“He left debts.”
“Then where did this come from?”
She looked ashamed.
“His life insurance.”
“You hid it?”
“Yes.”
“From Jeremy?”
“Yes.”
That explained something I had never understood.
After his father died, Jeremy became obsessed with being financially successful.
Edith told everyone her husband had left them destitute.
She had built Jeremy's identity around a lie.
“You told your own son he inherited nothing?”
“I was afraid he would waste it.”
“So you kept it.”
“He would have.”
“Maybe. But it was still a lie.”
Her eyes filled.
“I know.”
“Why tell me now?”
“Because Jeremy knows about the account.”
My stomach tightened.
“How?”
“He found old paperwork.”
“When?”
“Two weeks before the fire.”
“And?”
“He demanded the money.”
“What did you say?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“He told me if I didn't give it to him, he would make sure I was blamed for the mortgage fraud.”
There it was.
Jeremy had not burned the house merely to destroy evidence against himself.
He had been threatening Edith too.
She opened another envelope.
Printed text messages.
Jeremy:
You signed Blaire's name. Nobody will believe you were following my instructions.
Transfer the offshore money or I tell police everything was your plan.
You are old, Mom. Think carefully about where you want to spend the next ten years.
Edith had spent years protecting her son.
Now her son was threatening to bury her.
I expected her to cry.
She didn't.
“I made him this way,” she said.
“No.”
She looked at me.
“You helped.”
“Maybe.”
I folded the messages.
“But he's an adult.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
Edith agreed to disclose the offshore account and repay money traceable to Blue Meridian and other creditors.
It would cost her most of what remained.
In return, prosecutors would consider her cooperation when resolving her own charges.
Nothing was guaranteed.
As she prepared to leave, she stopped beside me.
“Blaire?”
“Yes?”
“If I had treated you differently, would you still have left Jeremy?”
I thought about it.
Eventually?
Probably.
But perhaps years later.
Maybe after more money disappeared.
Maybe after a child entered the picture.
Maybe after Jeremy found another way to ruin my career.
“I don't know.”
She nodded.
“Sometimes I think about that stupid air conditioner.”
“So do I.”
“I was angry because you came home and rested.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know why?”
I waited.
“Because I never allowed myself to rest.”
That was the saddest thing Edith had ever said.
She had spent her life believing suffering created moral superiority.
Then she punished every woman who refused to suffer beside her.
“You could have turned it on too,” I said quietly.
She looked at me.
“What?”
“The air conditioning. You could have sat down. You could have rested too.”
Tears filled her eyes.
She left without another word.
Two months later, the divorce hearing began.
Jeremy entered the courthouse wearing a dark suit.
He was out on bond pending several charges.
He had lost weight.
For the first time in our marriage, he looked at me as if he didn't know me.
Maybe he didn't.
Maybe I had finally stopped being the version of myself he depended on.
His lawyer argued that the house had functioned as the marital residence.
That Jeremy had contributed labor.
That marital funds had increased its value.
That removing him entirely would be inequitable.
Then Lawrence stood.
He placed my father's original deed on the evidence table.
The trust.
The vault letters.
The recording.
The forged documents.
The mortgage file.
The Blue Meridian records.
And finally, photographs of the burned house.
“Your Honor,” Lawrence said, “Mr. Hutson is asking this court to reward him with an interest in an asset he repeatedly attempted to obtain through fraud.”
Jeremy stared straight ahead.
His lawyer objected.
The judge overruled him.
Then Lawrence played Victor Hale's recording.
Jeremy's own voice filled the courtroom.
If the divorce happens before the lender files anything, I can argue the Granada property is marital.
Silence.
The judge looked at Jeremy.
Not angrily.
Almost incredulously.
May you like
And I knew the house was no longer the question.
The question was how much of Jeremy's carefully constructed life would still exist when the hearing ended.
