Chapter Two: The Documents In The Dark
Randall pulled out his phone again.
His fingers fumbled with the screen. He opened his email app. Went to his work account. Scrolled through the spam folder.
There they were.
Buried among hundreds of automated notifications and filtered messages. Emails from Morrison and Associates. The subject lines read: “Important Legal Documents” and “Divorce Proceedings” and “Final Notice.”
All unread.
He opened one dated fourteen months ago.
Randall, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be married to someone who’s never here. I’m filing for divorce. Please respond. Even if you hate me. Even if you think I’m making a mistake. Please just respond so we can handle this properly.
Annie’s words.
Her real words.
He’d never seen them.
“What is this?”
His voice came out hollow.
“I never got these emails. I never agreed to a divorce. The marriage is still valid. It has to be.”
“It’s not.”
Jesse’s voice held something that almost sounded like pity.
“California allows for default divorce when one party doesn’t respond. Annie followed all the legal requirements. She sent notice to multiple addresses, both physical and electronic. She waited the required time period. She published notice in a local newspaper when direct contact failed.”
He stepped closer.
“The court granted the divorce in absentia. It’s final, Randall. It’s been final for eight months.”
“In absentia.”
Randall repeated the words like they might mean something different the second time.
“Like I’m dead. Like I don’t exist.”
“Like you were absent.”
Jesse’s jaw tightened.
“Which you were. For ten years, you were absent from your wife’s life. The court recognized that reality and acted accordingly.”
“So I flew home to my wife. To my house.”
Randall’s voice rose again. Cracking.
“And I don’t have either anymore? I spent ten years working myself to exhaustion, living like a monk, saving every penny—and it’s all for nothing?”
“The house is a different matter.”
Jesse’s tone shifted. Business-like now.
“Under California community property law, Annie is entitled to fifty percent of all marital assets accumulated during the marriage. That includes this house, purchased in 2017. It doesn’t matter whose name is on the deed. Community property means it belongs to both of you equally.”
“With money I earned.”
“Earned during the marriage.” Jesse spoke slowly, like explaining to a child. “Which makes it community property. I’ve been advising Annie on this matter. The house was appraised last month at four hundred eighty thousand dollars.”
He pulled a folded document from his back pocket.
“Annie’s share is two hundred forty thousand. My suggestion is that you buy her out for that amount or sell the property and split the proceeds. Those are your two options.”
Randall felt like he was drowning.
The walls were closing in.
Two hundred forty thousand dollars. He’d have to give her half of a house he bought with his own money. A house he’d been paying the mortgage on for seven years.
“Community property.”
Jesse said it like a magic phrase.
“And before you get any ideas about fighting this in court, you should know that Annie has documented everything. Every month you were gone. Every missed call. Every holiday she spent alone. Every anniversary that passed without even a card.”
He crossed his arms.
“Any judge will see a clear case of abandonment. You’ll lose, Randall. You’ll spend thousands on legal fees and you’ll still lose.”
“He’s right.”
Annie’s voice was soft now.
“I kept records, Randall. I had to. For my own protection. I have text messages showing I tried to reach you. Call logs. Emails. Photos of me alone at Christmas. Alone on my birthday.”
She paused.
“Alone at my father’s funeral.”
Randall remembered that. Two years ago. Her father had died, and he couldn’t fly home. The funeral conflicted with a critical phase of his project.
He’d sent flowers.
He’d called and talked to her for an hour.
He thought that was enough.
“I’m sorry about your father,” he said quietly. “I should have been there.”
“Yes.”
Tears streamed down her face again.
“You should have. But you weren’t. You were never there, Randall. And eventually, I had to accept that you were never going to be there. That’s why I filed for divorce. That’s why I moved on.”
She wiped her eyes.
“I couldn’t spend the rest of my life waiting for someone who was never coming home.”
Neither Annie nor her lawyer boyfriend understood what they’d just done.
They didn’t know that Randall hadn’t spent ten years just working.
He’d spent ten years learning. Learning how contracts worked. How to spot loopholes and inconsistencies. Learning property law because he’d helped his company navigate international real estate deals worth millions.
Learning patience.
Strategy.
How to identify people’s weaknesses and exploit them without them ever seeing it coming.
Standing in his bedroom that wasn’t legally his anymore, watching his ex-wife and her attorney lover smirk at him like they’d won some kind of game—Randall made a decision.
He wasn’t going to rage.
He wasn’t going to break things or make threats or do anything that could be used against him in court.
He was going to outthink them.
Find every mistake they’d made. Every corner they’d cut. Every lie they’d told.
And use the law to take everything back.
“Okay.”
His voice was calm. Too calm.
Annie’s eyes narrowed. She knew that tone. She’d heard it once before, years ago, when her sister tried to scam them out of their wedding money. Randall had smiled at her sister, agreed to pay her, and then produced receipts proving the sister had actually pocketed the money.
“You’re right. I should have responded to the divorce papers. I should have been more present. That’s on me.”
Jesse blinked.
Clearly surprised. He’d expected more fight.
“So you’ll agree to the buyout terms?”
“I need time to think.”
Randall kept his voice steady.
“And I need to see all the documentation. The divorce decree. The property appraisal. All the financial records. I want to make sure everything was done properly according to the law. I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course.”
But suspicion crept into Jesse’s voice.
He wasn’t stupid. He could sense something had shifted.
“Everything was handled through proper legal channels. I’ll have my office send you copies of all relevant documents.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
Randall picked up his suitcase.
“Annie, I’ll get a hotel for tonight. I need some time to process all this. I’ll have my attorney contact you about the next steps.”
“You have an attorney?”
Surprise evident in Annie’s voice.
“I will by tomorrow.”
He headed for the door. Then paused.
“One more question. The mortgage. I’ve been paying it automatically from my Dubai account this whole time. Eighteen hundred dollars a month. Who’s been getting that money?”
Annie and Jesse exchanged a look.
Quick. Barely a second.
But Randall caught it. A guilty look. A look that said they knew something he didn’t.
“The mortgage was paid off two years ago.”
Annie spoke slowly. Reluctantly.
“In October of 2022. Jesse paid the remaining balance as a—as a gift to me.”
Randall’s mind started calculating.
October 2022. Two years ago. But he’d been paying eighteen hundred dollars a month since then. Twenty-four months.
“Forty-three thousand two hundred dollars.”
He said it out loud.
“I’ve paid forty-three thousand two hundred dollars into an account for a mortgage that doesn’t exist anymore.”
“The payments kept coming.”
Annie spoke quickly now.
“I didn’t know they would keep coming. The bank account stayed open and the transfers just kept happening automatically. I thought maybe it was some kind of escrow account—”
“Where’s the money, Annie?”
Randall interrupted.
His voice was still calm, but there was steel underneath now.
“Where did forty-three thousand two hundred dollars of my money go?”
Another exchanged look.
Jesse cleared his throat.
“Annie, you don’t have to answer that right now. We should speak with our attorney first.”
“Our attorney?”
Randall’s eyebrows rose.
“I thought you were her attorney.”
“I’m advising her in a personal capacity.” Jesse’s voice went stiff. “Any official legal matters would be handled by my firm, not by me directly. To avoid conflicts of interest.”
“Because you’re sleeping with the client.”
Randall finished the thought for him.
“Right. That makes perfect sense. Very ethical.”
He walked out before either of them could respond.
Down the stairs. Through the living room full of furniture bought with another man’s money. Out the front door of the house he’d worked himself half to death to buy.
The California sun was setting now. Painting the sky orange and pink and purple.
Beautiful colors that felt wrong somehow.
Too cheerful for the moment.
Randall stood on his lawn—legally speaking, or at least half his lawn—and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through his contacts until he found a name he hadn’t called in twelve years.
Maya Chen.
His first love. The woman he’d left behind when he married Annie. The woman he’d promised to forget.
But Hassan, his friend from Dubai, had mentioned her recently. She was a cardiothoracic surgeon now. And she had connections—forensic accountants, lawyers, people who could help.
He pressed call.
It rang four times.
“Hello?”
Her voice was the same. Low. Calm. In control.
“Maya. It’s Randall.”
A long pause.
“I know who you are.”
Another pause.
“What do you want?”
