“Jillian.”
“No.” Jill reached for her cell phone and opened her banking app. “We’re done. Transfer the money to my account and I’ll pay it off myself. Everything you need is right here.” She turned the screen toward him.
But Marc spluttered, “I’m afraid the company is a little short on working capital right now.”
“You don’t have the money?” Jill lowered her phone. “How can you not have the money? Five hundred thousand is nothing to you.” She flicked her hand dismissively through the air. “I don’t care how you get it. A line of credit, a loan, I don’t care. I want it paid off and you need to figure out how to do it.”
“I’m not willing to—” Marc began, but she cut him off.
“Then the judge should know about this, shouldn’t he?”
“Jill.” Marc’s voice was stern. “This isn’t funny.”
“No, it’s not funny at all.” Jill folded her hands on the table’s surface. “You called me a Jersey Girl, implying that I’d never be good enough for you—”
“Fine,” Marc snapped. “You want an apology? Will that make you feel better?”
“No, I don’t. I want you to remember that this Jersey Girl holds the fate of your entire company in the palm of her hand. That I was gracious when you didn’t deserve it.” Jill leaned forward, locking her gaze with his. “So lemme tell you what happens now.”
Several minutes later, the conference room door opened, and the judge poked his head in. “Are we all finished here?”
“We are.” Jill straightened in her chair.
“And what have we decided?” The judge settled into his place and opened his folder.
“Marc has decided to sign the house over to me. I intend to sell it.” Jill’s voice was clear and strong.
The judge glanced at Marc. “Is that true, Mr. Goodman?”
“Yes, sir.”
“He’s also transferring the balance in a small investment account to me, Your Honor,” Jill added. “To cover expenses for the sale.”
“That house comes with quite a bit of equity, despite the sizable mortgage. Is it your intention, Mr. Goodman, to assign that equity to Mrs. Goodman as well?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Marc’s voice was tight, and it was all Jill could do to keep from cheering.
The judge nodded. “I think we can make that happen right now. We have a notary on staff who will be happy to help.” He made a note and closed the folder.
“So we’re finished here?” Marc pushed his chair back from the table, like a petulant child.
“Not so fast, Mr. Goodman.” The judge’s voice was stern. “It’s not my job to rule on morality. If it were, the outcome of these proceedings would be very different. Even so, I suggest you think about what you’ve said, what you’ve put forth as fact. These proceedings may take place in a conference room, but they are still legally binding. Is there anything you’ve said, or any evidence you’ve submitted, that you care to reconsider?”
“No.”
When Judge Atkinson turned to Jill, his expression softened. “I’m sure you’re pleased with Mr. Goodman’s decision to assign you ownership of the Dewberry house, but don’t forget that you face challenges ahead. The terms of the prenup are very clear. The Summit house has been sold, and you are ordered to gather your things and vacate it within forty-eight hours.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Goodman, you are not to set foot in the Summit house until Monday morning, do you understand?”
“Yeah,” Marc sighed.
The door opened and the judge motioned for his clerk to enter. He handed her the folder. “Please make these orders your priority.”
After the clerk left, the judge addressed Marc and Jill with his final ruling. “Mrs. Goodman, you are awarded full ownership of the house in Dewberry Beach. You are hereby awarded all your clothes—those without price tags attached—your jewelry, and your camera equipment. You have until Monday morning to collect your things and vacate the Summit house. At which time Mr. Goodman may take possession and ownership. The closing can proceed after Mrs. Goodman leaves. I will sign the order and file it with the court by 5 p.m. today. If there are no further objections, you may consider this marriage dissolved one month from today.”
Marc rose from his chair abruptly and left the room, not bothering to mask his disgust.
The door closed behind him and Jill turned her attention to the judge. “Sir, may I ask one more thing?”
“So you own a beach house now?” Ellie raised her beer bottle in toast later that night. “And you’re divorced. Congratulations on both.”
“It appears I do.” Jill tapped her bottle against Ellie’s. “Officially, as of a couple of hours ago, although the divorce won’t be final for thirty days.”
Flush with a bit of cash, Jill had driven to Ellie’s apartment after the meeting with the judge. On the way, she’d bought the double-cheese pizza that Ellie loved and a six-pack of beer. She’d bought groceries too, to repay Ellie for her hospitality over the past week. They sat on the couch in Ellie’s small apartment, sipping beer and making plans.
“What are you going to do?”
“Sell it—as soon as I can,” Jill replied quickly. “No way can I afford to live there.” She tossed the crust back into the open box, then leaned into Ellie’s faded purple couch. “For practical reasons if nothing else. It comes with a hefty mortgage.”
“What about after the sale?” Ellie asked. “Do you get to keep the profit?”
“Yeah, anything beyond the mortgage and closing costs, I get to keep.”
“Shouldn’t you be happier? That house is worth a fortune.”
“I’m worried, El. The house has been on the market for years and it hasn’t sold. What if there’s something wrong with it and it never sells? I have a colossal mortgage payment at the end of the month and another after that. I’m just…” Jill reached for another slice, then changed her mind.
“Is that something you know for sure, or are
