No Longer Anyone’s Accessory Chapter 23
The formal judgment landed even faster than expected.
Twenty-three days.
Because Trevor couldn’t refute a single piece of evidence, and because the forgery could trigger criminal prosecution at any moment, he was forced to sign the divorce settlement agreement.
The court handed down its judgment: the divorce between petitioner Corinne Whitfield and respondent Trevor Wexler is hereby granted.
The Palo Alto property — awarded one hundred percent to the petitioner.
The respondent, having breached the basic legal duties of a spouse, is assessed a one hundred percent punitive damages surcharge and must fully return the community property transferred during the marriage, totaling roughly $2.7 million.
The respondent shall repay credit card expenditures classified as non-household spending, in the amount of $120,000.
The court orders a long-term wage garnishment against the respondent’s future income.
The day the judgment was served, Trevor didn’t show. His lawyer came to sign for it. On his way out, he said one thing to Corbin: “Mr. Wexler has indicated he waives his right to appeal.”
No appeal. He finally took it. Or maybe he simply couldn’t afford a lawyer for a second round.
Corbin handed me a copy of the judgment.
“Congratulations, Ms. Whitfield. You’re free.”
I took the pages in my hand. My thumb ran across the surface of the paper.
Three years. From this moment on, officially turned the page.
“Mr. Sloane. The compensation money — how is he supposed to pay it?”
“The court has issued a wage garnishment order. On his annual salary of $900,000, after deducting basic living costs and taxes, we can recover roughly four to five hundred thousand a year. The full award should be paid off in about five to six years.”
“That’s assuming he can even hold onto the job.”
“That’s his problem. Not yours.”
That afternoon, Nadia met me for coffee at a café. She looked at me, her eyes bright.
“Cori. You look completely different from two months ago.”
“Different how?”
“Before, you always carried this… this heaviness, like something was pressing down on you. Now? You look like the person who runs the whole show.”
I looked down and stirred my coffee.
“Nadia. Thank you. You’ve done so much for me.”
“Don’t go sappy on me. You did the heavy lifting. I just ran a few errands.”
She took a sip of coffee, then spoke again. “Oh, by the way. You know how Trevor’s doing now?”
“No. And I have no interest in knowing.”
“Fired.”
I lifted my eyes.
“After Kiara realized she was never getting that two hundred thousand back, she marched straight to HR and reported him. Using company resources to defraud a colleague. His name is completely trashed across the whole Silicon Valley circle. He’s on the industry-wide blacklist. He’s renting some run-down little apartment in San Jose now. And his mom? Ursula bolted back to Kentucky. Hiding from the loan sharks. The FBI is in it too now — interstate wire fraud is a federal case.”
I set my coffee cup back down on its saucer.
A Silicon Valley elite pulling a $900,000 salary. Drowning in debt. Reputation in ruins. The picture of him three years ago, smugly telling me “the money’s safest with my mom” — looking back on it now, it was so ironic it hardly felt real.
“Nadia.”
“Yeah?”
“I fly back to London the day after tomorrow.”
“Already?”
“The project isn’t finished yet. And —”
I paused.
“London headquarters sent a formal employment offer.”
Nadia’s cup hung suspended in midair.
“What kind of offer?”
“Chief Scientist.”
“What’s the compensation package?”
“The salary isn’t the main point. The main point is the XR-7 patent royalty share.”
“How much?”
“Conservative estimate — twelve million.”
In the coffee shop, Nadia stared at me with her mouth open for a full five seconds. Then she reached over and gripped my hand tight.
“Corinne.”
“Yeah?”
“You are such a goddamn badass.”
