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,
