Before entering, Joshua touched her arm.
“Whatever happens in there, I really want us to stay respectful for Maxine’s sake,” he said softly.
“Of course,” she answered, giving nothing away.
Then she walked through the door with a thick folder of proof.
When Abigail set the first fraudulent statement on the table, Joshua realized too late — Gretchen hadn’t come to sign anything.
She’d come to end him.
PART 3
The mediation room sat on the twelfth floor — cream walls, a coffee station, abstract art chosen to soothe. Built for families to fall apart quietly.
Gretchen sat beside Abigail. Across the table sat Joshua and his attorney, a sharp, silver-haired man named Frank in an expensive watch.
At first the meeting ran exactly the script Joshua expected — the house sale, furniture, custody, school costs. He answered every point with the same polished phrases: fair settlement, family’s welfare, respectful closure.
Every so often he glanced at Gretchen, checking that she still looked beaten.
She let him think so — tense shoulders, short answers, letting Abigail carry the room.
Then they reached the money.
Frank slid a folder to the center of the table.
“My client believes this reflects a fully fair division of marital assets,” Frank said smoothly.
