Page 25 of Someone Else's Shoes
She explains the situation in as bald and emotionless a manner as she can manage. But even as she does, hearing the words out loud, she feels an unexpected prickling behind her eyes, the fury and the unfairness of it catching like a plum stone in her throat.
‘Take your time, take your time,’ he says gently, and even this makes her furious: the fact that Carl has turned her into one ofthosewomen; the women who wail that their husband has left them and how can he do this to her blah-blah-blah.
‘But he can’t do this to me,’ she finishes. ‘I mean, I’m pretty sure he can’t do this to me. We weremarried. For almost two decades! He can’t just shut me out without a dollar. I mean, I’m his wife!’
He asks the extent of their assets, and she tells him what she can remember: the duplex in New York, the house in Los Angeles, the estate in the Hamptons, the yacht, the cars, theprivate jet, the office buildings. She is not sure what his business is worth, or even what exactly he does, but she explains it as best she can.
Saul Lowenstein takes a moment before he speaks. He speaks reassuringly, as if this is all just a minor inconvenience that can be sorted. The prospect of his fee for such a case, she thinks, eases the most reticent of minds.
‘Right. Well, the first thing we can do to help your immediate situation is to send a letter demanding access to the joint account. Luckily for you, Mrs Cantor, London’s divorce laws are some of the most equitable in the world. You will get, if not half, then a very decent proportion of his earnings for the last eighteen years.’
Nisha drops her face into her hand. ‘It is such a relief to talk to you, Mr Lowenstein. You have no idea how stressful this has been.’
‘I’m sure. And then we need to find you a base while we sort this unfortunate business out. Now, do you own any property in England?’
‘We did,’ she says. ‘He appears to have sold it.’
‘Ah. A pity. Most judges are reluctant to turn a woman out of a marital home.’ She can hear him scribbling notes as he speaks, the rude blare of a New York siren somewhere in the background. It makes her oddly homesick.
‘Now, the divorce papers you say your husband’s security man gave you. Can you read the first page to me?’
She does as he says and sits, almost in a dream, while he digests it. As he takes notes, she thinks about what she will do once this is sorted. She will fetch Ray. She might even bring him back to stay in London for a bit. She has no desire to head back to the US and all those rubberneckers who, when the news gets out, will suddenly find an excuse to call her, just to be able to report back the gossip to each other.No, she and Ray will get a place here while they work out how to proceed.
‘Mrs Cantor?’
She is pulled back from her reverie.
‘These are the papers he handed you?’
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I don’t have any other sets of divorce papers.’
He sighs. ‘These appear to be American divorce papers. He must have drawn them up in the US. Unfortunately, American divorce law is quite different.’
‘Meaning what?’
‘It is going to be difficult to challenge your access to the bank accounts. You don’t seem to have enough links to the UK to employ Part Three of the Matrimonial Causes Act 1984 as I might otherwise have suggested. Transatlantic enforcement of divorce rulings is notoriously tricky. We could potentially try for a court order but it cannot be enforced, especially if he decides to fly back to the United States. We can send him a legal letter, but –’
‘Carl has never paid any attention to a legal letter in his life. You don’t understand, Mr Lowenstein. Carl does not believe rules apply to him. I have watched him at close quarters for twenty years and he does what he wants. Always. It’s like … a point of pride for him. He cannot ever be seen to lose.’
Saul Lowenstein lets out a heavy sigh. ‘Then I’m afraid this does not bode well. I see a lot of high-net-worth clients, Mrs Cantor, and it usually goes like this: the husband – because I’m afraid it usually is the husband – divests himself of all assets into offshore holdings in the Caymans or Liechtenstein, and the wife is left trying to claim half of something that no longer officially exists, while chasing him around the globe. And there is the other problem …’
‘What?’ says Nisha, her head spinning. ‘What other problem?’
‘Well, without any money, Mrs Cantor, you cannot pay me.’
Nisha freezes. ‘I’m a very wealthy woman. You’ll get your money.’
‘I can only operate on cases at this level with a sizeable cash retainer.’
‘But I haven’t got anything right now. He’s shut everything down. I told you.’
‘I’m very sorry, Mrs Cantor. I really can’t do anything without a retainer. If you could sort things out at that end I’d be very happy to take on your case. Beyond that, I’m afraid there’s little I can do at this time. I’m not sure of any lawyers worth their salt who could.’
She is speechless. She thinks, for one horrific moment, that she might burst into tears. He waits a few seconds before he breaks the silence.
‘It’s not an unusual modus operandi among those of your income bracket, Mrs Cantor. He thinks, I’m going to screw her, grind her down, until she’s just glad to agree to anything. And that appears to be what’s happening here. You could, if you’re in desperate need, approach the police perhaps. Or the American Embassy.’
‘I don’t want the police involved!’ She drops her head into her hand. ‘I don’t understand,’ she whispers. ‘I don’t understand why he’s done this.’
