The Girl I Used to Be: A gripping and emotional page-turner

by Heidi Hostetter

  So this is how it ends, Jill thought, marriage to a man who swore he would love her forever.

  Moments after Jill settled into her seat, the conference room door opened and Marc sauntered in, well-rested and confident as if this were just another meeting in a typical day.

  By contrast, Jill’s nerves were frazzled. She was anxious and exhausted and couldn’t remembered a time when her head didn’t pound. Since Marc left, it had become painfully clear that he was the one with money, not her. The reality was that Jill was very nearly broke. So she had been looking for work, calling on every temp agency in the area, asking for whatever they had, but hadn’t found anything yet. At night, she worked on the list of tasks that Phyllis had given her, but checking them off was harder than she’d expected, especially when it came to their financials. Bank branch managers who had known Jill for years, had even cashed checks without asking for identification, suddenly refused to provide her with basic account information. They were sorry, they’d said, but Marc Goodman was the account holder, not her.

  Now, as Marc eased into his chair, his chunky silver cufflinks tapping against the conference table, he appeared completely unaffected by the events of the past week. His navy suit looked new, his hair was neatly trimmed, and his shoes were polished to a high shine. The unfairness of it all shook Jill to the core. She wasn’t the one who’d cheated; Marc was. After today, Marc’s life would go on as it always had while Jill’s entire life had imploded. Nothing would ever be the same.

  At that moment, Jill realized—fully—that she meant nothing to him and that she probably never had. Right now, she was a loose end, something for Marc to see to before he returned to his wholly unaffected life.

  Well, she wasn’t going to let that happen. Jill pressed her back against the vinyl chair as she felt a swell of anger. She leveled her gaze across the table at the man she’d been stupid enough to marry and promised that she would not go down without a fight.

  The door opened again, and the judge walked in. He was an older man, stoop-shouldered and weary, as if he’d overseen the end of too many marriages and this was the last in a particularly trying week. His robes fluttered as he crossed the room; his thick framed eyeglasses sat heavily on his face. A tuft of white hair clung stubbornly to its position on top of an otherwise balding head, while a full beard and sideburns seemed to make up the difference. As he rolled out his chair, Jill shifted in hers, remembering what Phyllis had said and hoping to catch his attention.

  But he seemed not to notice her.

  “Good afternoon. I’m Judge Atkinson.” The judge set a folder on the table and opened it. As he smoothed his hand across the first page, he looked at Marc and Jill tensed. “You must be Mr. Goodman?”

  “Yes, sir.” Marc leaned back in his chair, as if he’d already won. Apparently he’d heard the same bit of advice. “I am.”

  “And I’m Jill Goodman, your honor,” Jill offered quickly, refusing to be ignored. An older male judge who seemed to favor Marc was exactly what she didn’t want, but she wasn’t about to give up.

  “I imagine you are,” the judge replied dryly, his face devoid of expression. He took off his glasses and placed them on the table, then slipped on an almost identical pair and scanned the first page in the folder. “And we’re here this afternoon to facilitate the dissolution of your marriage?”

  “Sadly, that’s true, Your Honor.” Marc’s voice dripped with manufactured regret so extreme that Jill wanted to jump across the table to smack him.

  But that would be a show of emotion that Phyllis had warned her about. Instead, she squeezed her hands together on her lap as she nodded. “We are.”

  The judge paused to peer over the frame of his reading glasses. “You’ve both agreed to binding arbitration. So unless the record shows bias on my part, which it won’t, or fraud on your part—and it’d better not—my judgment here today will be final. Do you both understand and agree to that?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Good. Then we’ll proceed.” Returning his attention to the folder, he turned the page. “To review the basic facts in this case.” He picked up a fat silver pen and unscrewed the cap. “Mr. Goodman, you are fifty-one years old, healthy and capable of work to support yourself?”

  “That’s correct.” Marc reached for a cup and filled it with water.

  “Mrs. Goodman, you are twenty-six years old, and also healthy and capable of working to support yourself?”

  “Yes,” Jill said.

  “And there are no children from this marriage?”

  “Sadly, we have none together.” Marc managed a frown that almost looked genuine.

  Jill grit her teeth but said nothing. She simply shook her head.

  The judge looked down at the folder. “I understand there is a prenuptial agreement in place, and this is a copy of it?” He flipped to the last page and tapped the signature block. “Is this your signature, Mrs. Goodman?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Mr. Goodman, is this your signature above?”

  “It is, Your Honor.”

  The judge turned his attention to the document, flipping the pages and skimming the contents with the tip of his pen. “Prenuptial agreements usually make my job easier, but this one seems a bit… unusual.” He scrutinized Marc, who shifted in his chair. “Mr. Goodman, the accompanying financial declarations seems to be incomplete.” He held up a single page. “Do you have an updated packet? Nothing’s been added to your balance sheet since your marriage. Is there, perhaps, a page missing?”

  “No, sir, it’s all there.” Marc’s expression was guarded. “The past three years have been challenging for my company. The housing market has shifted dramatically so we’ve been forced to pivot to a new business model. We’re yet to turn a profit.”

  “No profit for the past three years,” the judge repeated. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

  Marc nodded.

  “Interesting timing.” The judge replaced the document and folded his hands together on the tabletop. “Your company’s ‘pivot’ seems to coincide with your marriage to Mrs. Goodman.”

  “Completely coincidently, sir.”

  “I hope so, for your sake, Mr. Goodman. The courts take a very dim view on hiding assets. The penalties are most severe.”

  Seeing that Marc intended to object, the judge held up his hand. “I’m not accusing you, Mr. Goodman, just reminding,” Judge Atkinson finished smoothly.

  He turned his attention to Jill. “Mrs. Goodman, do you have any objection to entering Mr. Goodman’s list of business assets into the record?”

  “No, sir, I don’t.” Jill shook her head. Despite everything she’d learned, Jill still had no interest in taking any part of Marc’s company.

  “Then we’ll move on to marital assets.” As he read the page, his frown deepened. “Here, too, there seems to be information missing. Mr. Goodman, what is your explanation for this? Do you really have no shared assets?”

  “My personal assets are tied to the business, Your Honor. Mrs. Goodman was fully aware of this,” Marc said smoothly. “As I said, the construction industry isn’t doing well, and as a result, neither am I. Regretfully, we’ve been living off investments and savings.”

  The judge stared at Marc for what seemed like a long time. Then he turned to Jill. “Mrs. Goodman, you have the right to object to Mr. Goodman’s statement if you don’t believe it to be true. Your objection will be entered into the record and arbitration will end right now.”

  Jill had no idea what that meant. “What happens if arbitration ends?”

  “Typically, your case will be reassigned to a New Jersey court. You’ll have the opportunity for representation and your case will be litigated in front of a judge.”

  “Reassigned? How long does that take?”

  The judge drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well, the courts are a bit overloaded at the moment, but I’d say no longer than twelve months.”

>   “But when we leave this room we’ll still be married?”

  “Legally separated,” the judge corrected. “But yes, you’ll still be married in the eyes of the law.”

  It was tempting, if only to see Marc on the witness stand and be there when Phyllis questioned him. But the price was being tied to Marc for another year and Jill didn’t want that. All she wanted was out.

  “Forget it,” Jill decided. “I don’t object.”

  “If you’re sure? We’ll proceed.” The judge nodded, then returned his attention to the pages in front of him. “All of Mrs. Goodman’s personal possessions, clothes, jewelry, shoes, accessories, will be hers to keep—”

  “Excuse me, Your Honor,” Marc interrupted.

  The judge raised his gaze and arched his brow. “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Goodman’s clothing was purchased for business functions so they’re company assets. Many of the items are unworn and still have value. I intend to return everything with a price tag and deposit the refunds to my business accounts.”

  “Are you telling me that you wish to keep your wife’s clothing?” The judge’s eyes narrowed in concern. “This is a very unusual request, Mr. Goodman.”

  Marc gestured calmly to the folder. “This very thing was addressed on page three of the prenuptial agreement, which Mrs. Goodman signed without coercion—”

  “Take them,” Jill snapped, unable to control her temper. “If this is what three years of marriage has come to—bickering over clothes with price tags—you can have them. Take everything. I don’t care. All I want is my camera equipment.”

  “Your camera equipment?” The judge slipped his reading glasses on and flipped the page. “I don’t see any camera equipment listed here.” Marc opened his mouth to speak, but the judge quieted him with the raise of his hand. “Let Mrs. Goodman answer the question.”

  Jill continued. “I started taking photography classes on the weekends, before I met Marc—”

  “Before you were married?” The judge raised his brows as he cut in.

  “Yes. When Marc and I met, I was working as a photographer’s assistant on my days off because I wanted to start my own photography business.”

  “And have you had success?”

  “I’ve had a few freelance jobs,” Jill answered honestly. “But it’s a hard field to break into. I’m still working at it though.”

  “And you want to continue this business?”

  “I really do.”

  “And you need your camera equipment to continue?”

  “Yes.”

  The judge turned to Marc and frowned. “Mr. Goodman, I fail to see how you or your company would have a use for Mrs. Goodman’s photography equipment, so I’ll ask you plainly: Is it your intention to prevent Mrs. Goodman from accessing gainful employment? Because if so, that will influence my final decision.”

  Marc looked away, his jaw tight. “No, Your Honor. Of course not.”

  “Good choice.” The judge smoothed his hand across the pad and began to write. “I’ll note that Mrs. Goodman will be awarded all her personal possessions, shoes, bags, jewelry, and clothing—those items without price tags,” he added wryly. “And all her camera equipment.”

  He jotted a few quick notes. When he finished writing, he slipped off his reading glasses and reached for the pitcher of water. No one spoke as he poured himself a cup, the sound of water and the whoosh of the air conditioner the only noise in the silent room.

  “Would either of you like a break before we continue?” the judge asked as he set his cup down.

  Jill shook her head. “I don’t need a break.” The rest of her life would begin the moment she walked out of this conference room. True, it would be different from the one she’d had with Marc, but it would be hers to shape however she wanted. And she wanted it to start right away.

  Marc shook his head as well, his expression unreadable.

  The judge appeared not to notice. “Alright then. Let’s move on to the largest shared asset, the house in Summit. The report says you’ve lived there for the duration of your marriage?”

  “We have, Your Honor, but I’m afraid the Summit house is also not a shared asset.” Marc leaned forward in his chair, deliberately casual though his eyes had darkened. She’d seen that look before and it never ended well.

  He rested his hands on the table and laced his fingers together as if he had all the time in the world. A cat playing with a mouse. “The Summit house is strictly a business asset. It was designed and built as a model for the neighborhood we were developing at the time. But the development has been completed and the house has served its purpose. We sold it just last week. The new owners take possession at the end of the month.”

  Jill attempted to smother her gasp but couldn’t quite pull it off.

  “Judging from your wife’s reaction, I assume this is news to her?”

  “I never kept anything from her, Your Honor,” Marc lied. “She’s never been interested in my work, but if she had been, I would gladly have shared the details. She knew the development was a business venture and that the house was part of it. I honestly don’t see how she can claim not to know. Buyers often toured the house, and I entertained business clients on the property. The whole site was maintained by my company.”

  “Even so, if that house was your primary residence, Mrs. Goodman may be entitled to half the proceeds at closing. I don’t see the selling price in the financials.”

  “Sadly, the house was sold at a loss,” Marc replied without emotion. “So I’m not required to disclose it.”

  “This seems strangely one-sided to me, Mr. Goodman.”

  “As was our marriage, Your Honor.” Marc looked away as he produced a frown.

  Jill’s fingers curled around the edge of her seat as she remembered Phyllis’s warning to stay calm. Judges don’t like drama, she’d said, but even Phyllis would have taken a shot at Marc by now she thought.

  “Mrs. Goodman didn’t care for young children because my own are grown and we have none between us. She didn’t cook or clean because I have staff to do that. Other than a vague interest in photography, she expressed no interest in a career that would produce income. Mrs. Goodman was content to spend the entirety of our marriage shopping, enjoying the luxuries I provided. In short, Your Honor, she’d contributed nothing to our marital assets during the entirety of our marriage, so she deserves nothing from it.”

  Jill drew her hands to her lap and squeezed them together so tightly that they cramped. He’d twisted the truth and made her sound awful, but if she objected, it would be part of the record and mediation would stop. Their case would be sent to trial and that was the last thing she wanted.

  “Interesting sentiments from someone who is essentially a newlywed,” the judge mused as he turned his attention to Jill. “What do you have to say to this, Mrs. Goodman?”

  Jill gathered her strength and replied, taking care to keep her tone even. “I didn’t have a job because Marc didn’t want me to have a job. He said that my place was by his side. As for children, Marc said he had three of his own and didn’t want more.”

  “I see.” The judge sighed. “I’ll ask you again. Do you want your objection to be part of these proceedings?”

  “No,” Jill answered firmly. “I do not.”

  “Alright then.” The judge nodded and consulted his list. “The final item on the list is a house in Dewberry Beach. Tell me about this house, Mr. Goodman.”

  “There’s nothing to tell, Your Honor.” Marc drew himself up and his tone changed again, as if he’d been coached. “The Dewberry house was built as a model for a development, similar to the Summit neighborhood. Unfortunately, the Dewberry Beach project didn’t catch on.”

  It was then that Jill remembered what Nadia had said on the phone the day Cush visited her.

  “That’s not right, Your Honor,” Jill blurted, then glanced at Marc. She was on to something, she just didn’t know what, so she stalled. “The house in Dewberry Beach—there’s a m
ortgage.”

  “There’s nothing to see, Your Honor.” Marc shrugged, projecting a coolness that seemed off to her.

  Jill ignored him. “We need to look at it.”

  “I don’t see how this—” Marc began.

  “There’s no harm in looking.” The judge shuffled through the papers for the Dewberry Beach house. “Especially since this is Mrs. Goodman’s first objection.” He scanned a page in front of him, then paused, his finger holding his place. “This bank, Mr. Goodman—Sunshine Trust. I’m not familiar with them.”

  “They’re based in Freeport, Bahamas.”

  A sprinkle of goosebumps rose on Jill’s arms as she remembered Cush’s trip there just weeks before Marc’s birthday party. An unusual vacation choice for August.

  “And do you do much business with this bank?” Judge Atkinson asked.

  “Not yet, Your Honor. We’re exploring the idea of a partnership. I’m not sure anything will come of it.”

  Was it Jill’s imagination or had Marc tensed? His face was utterly expressionless, but his body seemed coiled.

  “I see.” The judge flipped through the documents on Dewberry Beach with polite efficiency until he came to the final page. Then he stopped and raised his gaze to Marc, his expression hard. “And is your wife part of this new endeavor? Because I suspect she might not be, given your previous testimony. You did say she had no interest in your company’s business, didn’t you?”

  The judge pushed the packet toward Jill and pointed to the signature block at the bottom of the last page. “Mrs. Goodman, is that your signature?”

  It looked very much like hers, but it wasn’t.

  Jill glanced at Marc to see his face had drained of color.

  She turned back to the judge. “I’m not sure. Can you tell me what this is? It’s been a while and I may have forgotten.”

  “This document is a mortgage, a loan on the house in Dewberry Beach. The mortgage is in your name, with your husband and Cushman Lawrence as witnesses.” The judge laid down the paper. “It’s interesting that you don’t seem to remember. Mortgages are a serious undertaking. Documents are finalized in person so you would have to have been there. Do you remember taking a trip to Sunshine Trust in Freeport, Bahamas?”