He didn’t move from the doorway.
“Where am I supposed to go?”
I took a breath. I kept my voice even. I had practiced keeping it even for ten months.
“I believe there’s a commercial property in Kannapolis bringing in forty-eight hundred dollars a month in rent,” I said. “Co-owned by you and your mother.”
I drained the pasta. I plated it. I poured my wine.
“I’m sure she can help.”
I heard him stand there another moment. Breathing.
Then I heard the front door.
Then I heard his car start in the driveway.
Then the house was quiet.
The Barolo was very good. I sat down at my kitchen table, the one I bought at an estate sale in Durham three years before I ever met Daniel Haynes, and I ate my dinner in the particular peace of someone who has been patient for a very long time and has finally, completely done what needed to be done.
Roberta’s attorney called Deja the next morning at 9:03.
Deja picked up on the first ring. That was on purpose. I asked her to.
His name was Clifton Prudhomme. According to his firm’s website, he specialized in “family asset protection,” which is a phrase that means very different things depending on which side of the table you’re sitting on. He had apparently been hired the night before, sometime after Daniel drove to Greensboro.
Deja told me afterward that he called ready to negotiate. Friendly. Reasonable. The voice of a man who expected to smooth things over.
He was not ready for thirty-eight pages of forensic accounting.
He asked for two weeks to review the documents. Deja gave him ten days.
When he called back, he wanted to discuss “certain characterizations” of Haynes Family Properties, LLC. Deja walked him through Marcus’s methods with the patience of somebody who had read every page fifteen times and could answer any question about any line from memory.
He did not ask many more questions after that.
The discovery phase lasted six weeks. Daniel brought in a different attorney from a bigger firm, after Clifton apparently explained the size of what they were up against. The new attorney sent us seventeen interrogatories. Seventeen formal written questions, each designed to find a hole.
Deja and I answered every single one with documentation. Every single one.
In March, Roberta’s side filed a motion to limit the case as it related to the LLC. They argued that the Kannapolis property existed before the marriage, which made it separate property and not subject to division.
It was a reasonable argument. It might even have worked.
Marcus filed a supplemental report. It showed that two tenant improvements on the Kannapolis building, thirty-one thousand two hundred dollars of work done during our marriage, had been paid for with transfers out of our joint marital account.
My account. My money. The money I put in for groceries and the water bill.
The motion was denied.
Specialty: Quiet Comebacks & Personal Justice
David Reynolds focuses on stories where underestimated individuals regain control of their lives. His writing centers on measured decisions rather than dramatic outbursts — emphasizing preparation, patience, and the long game. His characters don’t shout; they act.