Nothing was discarded.
Photographs were wrapped carefully in tissue.
His suits remained on hangers.
The boxes were moved into a secure storage room on the building’s service level.
Rebecca’s office sent Gavin formal instructions explaining how to collect them.
He never came.
Madison lived in a one-bedroom apartment in the West Loop.
I assumed he had gone there after leaving the jewelry store.
Two days later, my office phone rang.
The caller identified himself as Martin Greer, Gavin’s divorce attorney.
He spoke with the booming confidence of a man accustomed to manufacturing urgency before reviewing the facts.
“Mrs. Everly, my client informs me that you have unlawfully denied him access to marital assets and business funds.”
“My professional name is Lydia Mercer,” I said. “Everly is the name of my company.”
A brief silence followed.
“Regardless, you have placed my client in an impossible financial position.”
“I ended discretionary spending by my company.”
“You froze his credit cards.”
“They belong to my company.”
“You emptied a joint bank account.”
“I transferred only funds traceable to my income and left sufficient money for current household obligations. My attorney has the complete records.”
His voice hardened.
“I strongly advise you to restore access before we seek emergency relief.”
I stood beside my office window, looking down at the river.
“Mr. Greer, have you reviewed Northline Systems’ ownership structure?”
“My client is the founder and chief executive.”
“That is a title. I asked whether you reviewed the structure.”
Silence.
I continued.
“Have you examined the vendor agreement between Northline and Everly Capital?”
“I have not yet received every document.”
“Have you reviewed Everly Capital Management’s operating agreement?”
“No.”
“The prenuptial agreement?”
He hesitated.
“No.”
“Then you are threatening legal action based entirely on what Gavin told you.”
“My client has substantial rights.”
“He may. But not to property he does not own.”
I heard papers shifting across his desk.
“Mr. Greer, I am sending three documents to your secure inbox. The first confirms that Everly Capital was created three years before my marriage. The second establishes that I own one hundred percent of the company and retain sole authority over discretionary expenses. The third is Northline’s vendor-development agreement, which permits termination after a material breach involving trust or disclosure.”
“You consider an affair a corporate breach?”
“I consider undisclosed personal purchases on corporate cards, misrepresentation of company-funded assets as personal property, and hidden conflicts inside a vendor relationship matters that deserve review.”
Some of the force disappeared from his voice.
“Are you claiming Northline has no independent revenue?”
“I am not making a claim. I am describing what its bank statements show.”
I sent the email while we spoke.
“Review those documents before filing anything,” I said. “You may also want to confirm how your retainer was paid.”
The line became quiet.
“What does that mean?”
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