Chapter 6

When I woke up the next morning, I felt more rested than I had in ages.

Sunlight streamed through the blinds in Vivian's apartment, casting dappled shadows across the floor.

I stretched, feeling light down to my very bones.

Vivian was already sitting at the dining table, her laptop open before her alongside a stack of documents—the very contents of that manila envelope I'd given her.

She wore gold-rimmed glasses, her expression focused, like a surgeon handling delicate instruments.

There were two breakfasts on the table: sandwiches and hot coffee.

"You're up?" Vivian didn't glance up. "Eat something. Once you're done, we've got serious stuff to discuss."

I walked over, took a seat, and sipped the hot coffee. The warmth spread through my stomach, chasing away the chill.

"You sorted all this out?" I looked at the receipts and vouchers she had sorted into categories, each labeled meticulously.

"Of course." Vivian finally looked up, adjusted her glasses, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Jenny, you're a real gem.

"These evidences carry more weight than ten thousand tearful complaints.

She pointed at her laptop screen. "I've already digitized and organized everything. Now, let's talk strategy."

Her fingers drummed against the table, the rhythm deliberate. "First, we file for divorce.

"Since Hank agreed in the heat of the moment, we'll strike while the iron's hot.

"If he tries to back out, we'll sue for irreconcilable differences. His forgery of documents and asset transfers constitutes solid evidence in our favor."

I nodded, listening quietly.

Vivian continued, "Second, splitting up the assets. This is where things get serious. The house might technically be his from before you got married, but you two have been paying the mortgage with money you both earned since then.

"Most of your salary these past five years went straight into family expenses, which means you were pretty much covering his mortgage for him.

"We can go after the increase in the house's value. Sure, you won't get half, but he'll still take a big hit."

I never realized there was so much to it.

"Next up, the savings," Vivian said, a cold smirk tugging at her lips. "Hank really thinks moving all the money into his mom's account means he's in the clear?

"He's totally clueless about the law.

"Any money you two made while married? That's joint property. It doesn't matter whose name's on the account.

"All those big, regular transfers he's been making? Legally, that's considered deliberate asset hiding.

"We can petition the court to subpoena his mother's banking records.

"Once verified, Hank would be deemed the at-fault party in the property division, allowing us to demand he receive a reduced share, or be excluded entirely from those transferred assets."

My heart was racing. I had never imagined that the law could shield me with such precision.

Vivian said, "Finally, there's the issue of your father-in-law's support and care.

"After the divorce, you won't have any legal duty to look after him.

"But the way you've taken care of him these past two years—your neighbors, and even the former nanny, Lucy, can all vouch for you.

"That'll score you major points for character in front of the judge.

"Hank and his mom will end up looking like total villains compared to you."

Vivian took a sip of her coffee and summed it up. "So, our first move isn't to go to court and break down in tears.

"We're going to strike first. We'll hit Hank with a demand letter, spelling out exactly what we want.

"Let him know what cards we're holding and what we're after. Show him how laughable his fantasy really is—this dream of his where you walk away empty-handed."

I looked at Vivian, at the unshakeable confidence burning in her eyes. I felt a fire ignite in my own chest. "Alright. We'll do it your way."

Vivian grinned. "That's what I'm talking about. You gotta be ruthless with scumbags like them."

She immediately started drafting the document on her laptop, her fingers moving with effortless precision.

I sat across from her, eating my sandwich, watching her in action.

For the first time, I felt a sense of peace I'd never known before. It felt like I'd finally found my weapon.

An hour later, the demand letter was ready—its wording rigorous, its logic airtight, its tone undeniably imposing.

Vivian printed it out and slipped it into an envelope bearing her firm's embossed letterhead. "Done. I've arranged for a courier to hand-deliver it to Hank's office this afternoon.

"Now, we sit back and enjoy the show." She winked at me.