Defiled Read online

  If you want me, call me.

  Labor Day passed slowly. I walked the three blocks to the Walgreens for some milk and snacks and discovered the white panel van keeping vigil. I had a jailer; all I needed were bars on my windows.

  Back home I logged onto my computer. Since the Simmons note hadn’t smoked out any spies, and with a taste for revenge after being spied on again this weekend, I wrote Tony Zambrano another exploratory note from my public account:

  Tony,

  Carrie is hiding a third ex-husband, a guy named Richard Puralto, in Pinellas Park. She may have committed bigamy when she married me. Have Fred track him down.

  Randle

  From my secure account, I wrote Tony a real note:

  Tony,

  This PI kid is really getting under my skin. Attached are pictures of him violating my restraining order and taking pictures of me. Do something!

  Randle

  CHAPTER TEN

  Early Tuesday morning, I drove to the Cortes County seat to meet with the judge. If the kid in the white van had followed me, he did a good job of hiding.

  The iconic county courthouse is a broad, substantial building constructed of bricks, standing three or four stories tall with a dome on top. In most county seats, the courthouse sits on a square in the heart of town, emblematic of justice in America, the centerpiece of civilized society. The courtrooms in these courthouses resemble scenes from a John Grisham novel. Judges’ chambers are luxury suites, paneled in wood, equipped with bars. Some courthouses are so impressive in stature they are pictured on postcards. Such is not the case with the Cortes County courthouse. It is not an attraction for spring breakers. It is not pictured on any postcard. The courthouse is a nondescript glass-and-steel office building spirited out of some Eastern European country in the 1950s and plunked down on an unremarkable street to hide anonymously among other unimpressive buildings.

  Her Honor Phyllis Matthews-Bryant had agreed to hear motions in her “chambers,” so Ms. de Castro, Carrie, Tony, and I gathered in an office that would have been suitable for a middle manager of an insurance company. The judge was a slender woman in her fifties with a patrician face and long gray hair she didn’t bother to conceal. Aging hippie is the phrase that came to mind, except that she wore a business suit just like a middle manager of an insurance company.

  It had only been a couple of weeks since I had moved out of the country house, but in this official setting my wife seemed a stranger I was meeting for the first time. She seemed smaller, vulnerable. The spiky gelled hair she favored when she wanted to attract attention was gone—her hair was brushed like a little boy’s—and she had applied no makeup. She wore no rings, no jewelry of any kind, was dressed in slacks, a conservative sky-blue blouse, and low-heeled sandals. She did not make eye contact with me and stuck close to her attorney’s side. Poor little Carrie was now a supplicant in front of the judge.

  Roberta de Castro turned out to be an attractive woman in her early forties, dressed in a navy suit and wearing fire-engine-red heels. I liked the bold statement made by the heels—“I’m a flamboyant attorney, and I don’t mind you knowing it.”

  The judge’s assistant wheeled in two swiveling desk chairs borrowed from other offices, and everyone took a seat.

  The judge said, “Let’s get started. We have three motions to consider: stock option disposition, mediation, and personal property division. Let’s take the stock options first. Ms. de Castro, we’ll start with the plaintiff’s argument.”

  In an accented voice that sounded like a dull razorblade scraping a three-day-old beard, de Castro said, “Thank you, Your Honor. Our position is that the option award itself is tangible property, and therefore all options became community property when the couple wed. The IPO has been scheduled to occur twice during the marriage, so Mrs. Marks had a right to believe she would share equally in their value. When the marriage was irretrievably broken by Mr. Marks, my client was forced to file her complaint for divorce, but the timing of the divorce shouldn’t influence the Court’s view of their community property. All two hundred thousand options should be divided equally, as will be the case with all other community property.”

  No reaction from the judge; she didn’t even take a note. Carrie wore a brave smile.

  The judge said, “Mr. Zambrano?”

  Dressed in his trademark chalk-striped suit and bowtie, Tony shifted in his chair and then leaned forward to deliver his argument. “Your Honor, the stock options are not tangible property as they have no value until or unless the company goes public and shares are sold on the market for a value as yet to be determined. In order to gain ownership of the options, Mr. Marks must be employed by the company on the date the options vest, and therefore the thirty thousand shares that vest on the company anniversary and the fifty thousand shares that vest on the IPO date have no legal standing whatsoever. He’s under no obligation to remain employed by AMA, and we can’t limit his freedom by compelling him to be employed there. It is also our opinion that the thirty thousand shares that vested prior to the marriage are a premarital asset, so a ruling is only required for the ninety thousand shares that vested during the marriage. We would argue as well that those shares will not become real property unless the IPO occurs prior to the final divorce decree.”

  Tony leaned back, pensive. A frown rose from Carrie’s neck and crept across her face. De Castro wore a confident smile. The judge hadn’t taken any notes during Tony’s monologue either. She wore a little smirk.

  Judge Matthews-Bryant said, not unkindly, “I’ll decide what rulings need to be made, Mr. Zambrano.” She folded her hands on her clean desktop. The arguments made by the attorneys had been anticipated. The ruling to come had been decided before anyone entered her chambers.

  “So, we have opposite ends of the spectrum: all …”—Matthews-Bryant motioned toward de Castro—“… or nothing at all.” She motioned toward Tony. “That was to be expected, so I’ll be Solomon and divide the baby. I agree with Mr. Zambrano that the options had no value when awarded, but my opinion is that they do have a value once vested. Before the IPO, the value of the vested shares happens to be zero because the shares can’t be sold. After the IPO, the value will be set by the market. Thus, the hard currency value of the shares fluctuates, but once vested there is always a value between zero and something to be determined. The IPO date is a trigger for market valuation of vested shares, but the vesting date is the trigger that turns potential into real property.”

  Nodding to de Castro, she continued, “I will agree with Ms. de Castro that Mrs. Marks had a right to believe all options would vest during the marriage and would be community property with a monetary value to be established by the market. Since she filed for divorce before the last eighty thousand options have vested, she has left those options up for debate. Any questions so far?”

  Tony spoke up. “Yes, Your Honor. I’m confused by your ruling. Since the options become property on their vesting date, and since the first thirty thousand shares vested before Mr. Marks had the misfortune of meeting the future Mrs. Marks, it would follow that those shares belong to Mr. Marks as premarital property.”

  The judge frowned at Tony. “Watch your tongue, Mr. Zambrano.”

  Matthews-Bryant donned a pair of reading glasses and paged through a file on her desk. She found what she wanted before looking up. To Tony Zambrano she said, “Let me try to explain it to you. The IPO was originally scheduled for the summer of last year and then it was rescheduled for March of this year. Mrs. Marks filed her complaint just last month, in August, after the couple had been married nearly four years. Clearly all one hundred and twenty thousand shares should by now have been shared by both parties. Although there is no guarantee that AMA will ever go public, and there is no guarantee that more options will vest in the future, the options that are vested will be shared equally by the parties. Is that clear?”

  Abashed, Tony said, “Thank you for the explanation, Your Honor.”

  Matthews-
Bryant waved a questioning hand toward de Castro.

  De Castro said, “I’ll hold my questions, Your Honor.”

  Matthews-Bryant resumed her pose as the oracle dispensing judicial wisdom and continued. “It is not appropriate for Mrs. Marks to remain in a broken marriage in order to obtain her fair share of community property. On the other hand, I will not allow the plaintiff to drag her feet on this proceeding simply to acquire a bigger slice of the pie.”

  The judge paused to look at Carrie and de Castro. Carrie smiled and de Castro nodded. Tony and I were quaking in our boots.

  “The shares that will vest with the IPO and on the next company anniversary will also fall under this ruling if the divorce isn’t final before those triggering events. However, this is a simple divorce and we want this process to proceed with speed; therefore, I order the parties to reach an agreement during mediation on the split of the eighty thousand options and to keep those two timings in mind as you negotiate.”

  I could feel the air being sucked out of the room.

  As we all stared at the judge, she said, “Questions or rebuttal?”

  De Castro raised her hand as if she were in a classroom. “Your Honor, what happens if the parties cannot reach an agreement on the unvested options?”

  Matthews-Bryant was quick to respond. “Then I’ll divide those shares. Don’t make me do it, Ms. de Castro. Anything else?”

  No one said a word, so the judge continued. “To make my point about dragging feet, I order that mediation occur on the earliest availability of the mediator.” She consulted the file on her desktop. “The last Monday of the month, in the offices of Ross Smallwood. Ms. de Castro?”

  De Castro immediately realized that the divorce could go final before the IPO and the vesting of fifty thousand options. She considered an objection but swallowed her words and simply said, “We’ll be there, Your Honor.”

  “Good. Mr. Zambrano, you may choose a date for the division of personal property.”

  Tony said, “We’ll take the earliest offered moving date, Your Honor, the Friday before mediation.”

  “Then we’re done.”

  The judge began to rise, but de Castro interjected, “Excuse me, Your Honor, but we haven’t reached agreement on the property division. Each side filed different versions.”

  Matthews-Bryant sank back into her chair. “Ladies and gentlemen, you are starting to annoy me. You will have a property division agreement in my hands by this Friday, or you will be held in contempt. You follow?”

  The attorneys nodded.

  “That means Mr. Marks can move his belongings the following day, Saturday. We aren’t at the mercy of a mediator’s calendar here, right? So let’s just get this done.” She looked over the top of her reading glasses at the women, who were frozen in shock, then added, “Unless you have a nail appointment on Saturday, Mrs. Marks.”

  Carrie flushed. She and de Castro huddled and whispered hisses like two snakes in a mating ritual. De Castro broke the huddle and said, “Your Honor, the plaintiff would like more time to prepare for the move.”

  “What’s to prepare? He’s doing all the heavy lifting.” She snickered.

  Carrie surprised us by saying, “Your Honor, I’d like to separate my things from his so they are out of harm’s way and his are easier to access.”

  The judge gave her a look of amused respect. “Fine. I’ll give you all weekend to prepare. Can you move on Monday, Mr. Marks?”

  “I can, Your Honor. Thank you.”

  The judge didn’t give Carrie another chance to object. She rose and said, “Mr. Zambrano, if you would please, wait here a few minutes until the ladies have left the building.”

  “Of course, Your Honor.”

  The women were seated closest to the door so they could leave without passing by us, but at the doorway Carrie paused, popped out a seductive hip, and, looking back over her shoulder, stuck her tongue out at me. The judge noted the insult before she picked the file folder off her desk and followed de Castro out of the office.

  Tony put a hand on my shoulder. “I can see why you were attracted to her, Randle. That’s quite a body.”

  Mimicking the judge, I said, “Watch your tongue, Mr. Zambrano. She’s still my wife.”

  He tried to put an arm around me, but I pulled away and put some space between us. “I just lost somewhere between six hundred and eight hundred thousand dollars.”

  “We held our own.”

  “They’re kicking our butt. All you said was, ‘Thank you, Your Honor.’ Like some kid in prep school saying, ‘Thank you, sir, may I have another?’”

  “It was just a ruling. You win some and you lose some.”

  Tony tried to wander away, but I grabbed his arm and turned him around. “You said the thirty thousand startup shares were mine. You don’t seem to know what you’re talking about.”

  That insult hurt him. “My offer still stands: If you want a new lawyer, now is the time to get one.”

  “I don’t want a new lawyer; I want a fair settlement. You know they’ll want a fifty/fifty split of the remaining options.”

  Tony clapped me on the shoulder. “You don’t get it. If the judge wanted her to get half of those shares, she would have given them to her. The judge is expecting your wife to accept something less than half.”

  “She could have said so.”

  “Judges don’t want to dictate settlements, Randle. They want to approve settlements and rule on points of law.” Tony started for the door. As we walked through the maze of clerks to the hallway, he said, “I don’t think you have to give her more than twenty thousand shares.”

  I grunted my disgust. When we rounded the corner into the elevator well, we saw Carrie and de Castro conversing animatedly. De Castro wagged a scolding finger in Carrie’s face. Tony grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the hallway.

  “What’s that all about?” I said.

  “I’ll bet the judge warned them about that look your wife gave you as she left the room.”

  “A warning won’t make Carrie behave. Judges seem to think they have power, but I see no proof of that.”

  Tony peeked around the corner and said, “Still there.” Then he gave me a stern look. “Maybe I should warn you too. Don’t fool around with the property inventory. When de Castro sends the next version, just accept it so we can get the list to the judge by Friday.”

  “I get it now,” I said. “The people the judge has the power to control are the lawyers. You’re afraid of her, but Carrie’s not and neither am I.”

  “Then you’re dumber than I thought.”

  I let that pass. My point had been made. Tony peeked around the corner again. Waving his arm like an infantry sergeant leading troops into battle, he said, “Come on, they’ve disappeared.”

  As we rode down in the elevator, I said, “Where do we stand on the Baker Act petition?”

  “Putting it together.”

  I spun my hand like a clothes dryer, signaling “hurry up.” “When will you file?”

  “Next week, Randle. You’re not my only client.”

  “How will Matthews-Bryant react to this happening in the middle of the divorce?”

  “It doesn’t go to circuit court,” he said. “It goes to state court, to a judge name of George Smithson. Matthews-Bryant won’t know about it unless someone tells her.”

  “What are our chances?”

  “According to my colleagues, Judge Smithson never rejects a petition, likes to get them on his docket, keep himself busy. He’ll schedule a show cause hearing and let both sides submit briefs and make oral arguments. Then he’ll decide whether to have your wife examined.”

  “Okay.”

  We exited the elevator, walked through a revolving door, and were soon on the street. “What about that PI? Can you get him off my tail?”

  Tony gave me a serious glance. “What did he get pictures of?”

  I debated whether to tell the truth. I settled on a half-truth. “My ex-wife was in the poo
l.”

  Tony set his briefcase down so he could use both hands to massage his temples. He decided against a tongue-lashing. “In that case we’ll wait for them to bring it up in court, and then we’ll object to the stalking. You’ll just have to avoid giving him anything to use against you.”

  I was about to object, but Tony shook his head. “One more thing. I thought I told you not to write me notes from your old email account.”

  “That was intentional, Tony. I want to see if they’re reading my mail. See if we get a reaction.”

  “What do you want me to do with them?”

  I explained Carrie’s relationships to Philip Simmons and Richard Puralto and asked him to track the guys down. Tony didn’t see the relevance of the Puralto investigation, but I rather rudely insisted, reminding him that I was the client and I was footing the bill.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It was no accident that Connie phoned me first thing Wednesday morning. The day after I filed the countersuit, she had invited me to lunch to lobby for a retraction of the countersuit, and now she was on the line the day after we met with the judge. Carrie had asked the “fixer” to help her again.

  “Hey, brother,” Connie said. “Carrie says you have dates for moving and mediation, so you should be happy.”

  Fishing for a reaction to the option split? “Happy enough. The judge just followed state law. The subjective pieces remain to be decided—the unallocated options, alimony, property.”

  Cautiously, she said, “All to be decided at mediation. Carrie is nervous about it. Are you?”

  De Castro knows the mediator doesn’t coddle wives. “Not at all. We’ve chosen a mediator who will help me get a fair deal.”