Page 16 of Take What Hurts

“I’ve reviewed the text messages today, and I’m going to send them over to you now in good faith. I have to say—I’m not easily disgusted, but these managed it.”

Mackenzie didn’t need her to spell it out, and she chose to stay silent, brain whirring.

“Once you’ve had a look through the messages, I encourage your client to come back to us with a proper offer that appropriately reflects the contributions of each party.”

Mackenzie’s brain warred with itself. Say something. Don’t say anything. Though Mackenzie worked her throat to interject, she was gripped by the paralysis that came with being entirely blindsided. What could she say when she didn’t know what the messages said? How bad were they? What if she said something that made it worse? Why didn’t she fucking already know what they said?

Elliott’s voice filtered through the screaming in her head. “If your client continues to play the game she’s playing—” Finally, something she could respond to. Mackenzie was about to interrupt to raise some sort of defense for her client, but Elliott beat her to it. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what your client is doing,” she spat. Mackenzie’s mouth snapped closed, lips tightening. “We will file, and we will rely on the messages in the alimony application.”

Fuck. For so many reasons. Too many reasons. The messages were obviously bad. No lawyer would go this hard if they didn’t have a smoking gun to back it up, but Elliott’s competence… her bull-by-the-horns attitude. Mackenzie was—if she looked past the part where she’d unknowingly stepped into a mess—enjoying being challenged like this. Too much. Mackenzie shook her head, realizing that Elliott was waiting for her response. “Please send them over, and I will review them and obtain instructions from my client.”

“One more thing.”

Mackenzie’s stomach dropped like a fucking stone. This was a tactic Mackenzie used. She would wait until the other counsel thought the conversation was over. That the worst had been said. Then she would drop the next bomb, and it was usually a big, atomic-sized one.

“Go on.” She placed a hand on her stomach. She’d run out for a chocolate muffin about thirty minutes before Elliott had called—and, she suspected, categorically ruined her afternoon—and she was regretting every bite as chocolate-flavored bile bubbled up in an effort to escape.

“Are you confident in your client’s financial disclosure?”

It was a trap. Mackenzie took a breath and picked at words as her brain threw them at her. She needed to walk a line—don’t make any admissions but don’t be too obstructive either. “To my knowledge, my client has made full and frank disclosure.” There. That was good.

She heard Elliott breathe a soft “hmm” down the phone, and Mackenzie squirmed in her chair. The urge to break the silence that stretched the length of a football field made her chest tighten. In an effort to overcome said urge, she spun her chair toward the window overlooking the dreary sound, resolutely counting the raindrops as they bled down the glass and dropped into the abyss of road and tarmac below.

Finally, Elliott’s soft, clipped voice shot into Mackenzie’s ear. “You’re on notice that if we find that your client hasn’t made full and frank disclosure and your client pushes this matter into a courtroom, that will become a cornerstone of my client’s case.” Mackenzie’s head was swimming, and she found herself staring blearily out the windows of her corner office at the misty cloud that hung on the horizon where Mount Rainier would otherwise be blurred in her vision. “Presumably I don’t need to say anything more about how that might affect your client?”

Mild irritation at her colleagues lanced Mackenzie’s veins. She didn’t, as a rule, find herself in these situations—flat footed and playing fucking catch-up. Turning away from the window and back toward the wall of bookcases lined with thousands of dollars of outdated law school tomes, she flattened the phone against her chest, sucked in a breath and let it out, then brought it back to her ear, swallowing hard. “I understand.”

“Good. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

Mackenzie heard the click of Elliott returning the receiver to its cradle, and she put her phone screen-down on the desk. She stared at the blackened monitor screen for a moment, hands shaking with adrenaline.

So much for the passing thought she’d had, when this matter had been dropped on her desk, that it might be one she could turn into a quick win. After all, she’d had cases like this before—cases that had been dragging on for years before they came across her desk. Without fail, she’d resolved every one of them within a month. The queasiness was a warning. This case, with this client, and with this lawyer on the other side. This wasn’t going to be one of those.

“Fucking hell,” she muttered into the empty room. She dropped into her seat and puffed out a harsh breath. She was hot, bothered, and in the most seriously deep shit.

The text history unfolded like a scene in one of Mackenzie’s most heinous nightmares. The hundreds of pages of messages painted a picture more asinine than Mackenzie could stomach—of Anna as a wolf and Matilda as a trusting, sweet lamb who loved her ill-fated mate blindly and without question.

The way Matilda had handed over control of their finances to Anna. Had without argument pooled their money into joint accounts. The way she’d given Anna unfettered access to the hard-fought, hard-earned cash Matilda had dreams to use to help her mother out of debt, to enjoy for herself. And she’d told Anna all about those dreams. It was all there in black and white. Painfully detailed. And once they’d tied the knot—well, Anna hadn’t given a single shit and had devolved into a near-constant berating of everything from Matilda’s spending habits to her dreams.

And Matilda had just taken it. Until she hadn’t.

When Matilda had finally snapped, Mackenzie’s affection for her was overwhelming. She’d asked Anna what had happened to them. And Anna—god, Mackenzie could barely read it. Anna had told Matilda that she hated her. That she wasn’t the person Anna had married. That she was irritating. Weak. Pathetic. That she didn’t love her. And Matilda, with the everlasting faith of a fool, had told Anna this wasn’t like her and had asked if they could talk.

Presumably they’d talked. And presumably that had led to the final messages of any substance between them.

Matilda 9:46PM

Thank you for speaking with me. As discussed, we are both in agreement that our marriage is over and we should separate. We both agree not to touch the money in the accounts outside of our allowances and the money I will need to find alternative accommodation. My salary from today onwards will go into my own personal account. You have said you want to obtain advice, and I will do the same. I only hope it can be resolved amicably. I hate that we are here.

Anna 10:01PM

You had better fucking make sure its resolved amicably and outside of court. I swear to fucking god if you drag this out and put me through anything more than what you already fucking have, I will make your life a living hell. I will bury you. I will make sure you never play another fucking note on that goddamned piano. I will be your worst fucking nightmare. I want 80% Matilda. Minimum. Consider it compensation for the 5 yrs I wasted with you.

But it went beyond the financial control and the threats. Those were nightmare inducing in and of themselves for any divorce lawyer. But the real kicker, and the thing that turned into an anvil of lead that dropped swiftly to the bottom of Mackenzie’s stomach, was that Anna had stolen from Matilda.

She’d squirreled away bits and pieces of money into an account not listed in the financial disclosure. Mackenzie scribbled the number down in spinning haze and cross-referenced it against the bank statements. Hundreds of transactions starting from the minute Anna had control of the money until the day their relationship died. And it was nowhere to be seen in the financial disclosure. The money—approximately $230,000 of it—had simply vanished.

Mackenzie fell back in her chair and only had the presence of mind to stare silently at the screen. Heart ramming against her ribs. Stomach churning. There was no way to spin this in Anna’s favor. Not in a way Elliott wouldn’t latch on to and shut down immediately, anyway. They were fucked just based off the messages. But the extortion. The failure to disclose the account. That was what would truly sink them.