Page 44 of No Turning Back
Markus’s eyes snap to me. “You moved in with-”
Philip doesn’t miss it. “For the record,” he says, his tone firm but even, “any questions or comments from Mr. Ortega should go through counsel. And cohabitation has no bearing on division of assets unless you can prove financial interdependence, which you can’t.”
Ms. Connelly clears her throat, eyes flicking to Markus before turning back to her notes. “We’ll revisit that later. Moving on…”
God, if I had a dollar for every time she’s saidmoving ontoday. Honestly, I don’t know why I was worried, this is fun.
She flips a page. “Are there any jointly owned vehicles?”
I shake my head. “I own mine. He rents his.”
Ms. Connelly clears her throat. “Who located the marital residence?”
I nod toward Markus. “He did.”
“Let the record reflect ‘he’ refers to Markus Ortega,” she says like she’s narrating a soap opera.
I raise an eyebrow at the theatrics.
“And who paid the down payment?”
“We both did. Fifty-fifty.”
She makes a note, her face a little flatter now, like she’s realizing Philip’s not going to let her slip in any more of those underhanded landmines.
“And your current occupation?”
From there, she switches gears into the boring-but-pertinent stuff, salary, benefits, savings accounts, household expenses. The kind of questions that make your brain drift until you remember there’s a court reporter recording every “uh-huh” you mutter.
The deposition wraps around four in the afternoon. I hang back while Philip coordinates dates for Markus’s deposition next week, one I will absolutely not be attending. Honestly, everything we need we can get from the documents, but Philip says he wants Markus to admit to the affair on the record.
In Texas, infidelity doesn’t usually affect how property gets divided, but it can influence things like spousal support or tip the judge’s sympathy when there’s a close call. Philip’s banking on that little human factor.
I thought Markus couldn’t fall any lower.
Guess I was wrong.
Chapter Fourteen
Markus
“She wants to take my fucking house.”
It’s the first thing out of my mouth when I slam my beer down in front of Lyle, the only friend I’ve got left.
He just shrugs, casual, like I’m not drowning here. “Maybe you shouldn’t have knocked someone else up.”
I let out a slow breath, trying to keep the heat under control. “You’re saying it’s my fault? You’ve been screwing around on your wife for years, she never left you. My ex-fucking-friend banged a stripper the night before his wedding, his wife didn’t leave him. And Quinn? She leaves me for one mistake.”
Lyle laughs, but I can see the stress in his shoulders. “I don’t screw around on my wife.”
“Fine,” I say, waving a hand. “Open marriage, whatever.” I tilt the bottle back and chug the rest, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Man, you really won the lottery with that. You gotta tell me how you did it.”
Lyle shrugs. “I get to party when I’m home and Maria doesn’t get lonely during long deployments.”
“Man, I could never do that,” I say, pulling another beer from the cooler under the table. “I mean, I get wanting variety, but I could never have another man touching my wife.”
“It’s not for everyone,” he says, taking a sip.
