The $480,000 became a central piece of the case. Two years of documented theft, traced dollar by dollar by the very auditor they'd stolen it from. Restitution was ordered. Whether I'll recover all of it, I don't know. But the record exists, permanent and undeniable, that Eric Vance spent two years robbing his wife and then tried to send her to Paris so he could finish the job.
The divorce was not a negotiation. Eric had no leverage — he'd committed crimes on tape, against a woman who held the deed to the only real asset and the professional skill to prove everything. He left the marriage with what he'd brought to it, which was charm and a failing brother-in-law and a criminal record.
The house — my grandmother's house, mine alone — stayed mine. They'd tried to take the one thing that was most purely mine, the home a woman who loved me left me, and they failed, because my grandmother had put it in my name alone, and because I was exactly the kind of person who could defend it.
