Page 282 of Invisible Bars
No mad money. No secret stash.
Why? Because my marriage was supposed to last.Because I never took Robert seriously when he talked about divorce. Because I never thought he’d have the guts.
I hung up on Elliot mid-sentence. I didn’t need to hear another scripted syllable from the fraud department’s finest; I needed to hear it from the horse’s own smug, betraying mouth.
My fingers trembled as I dialed Robert. He answered after two rings.
“I figured you’d be calling soon,” he said, his tone unsettlingly nonchalant.
“You piece of shit!” I spat, fury igniting my words. “You think this is funny?! Embarrassing me like this! You drained my accounts like a damn thief! You took everything!”
“You took everything from our family a long time ago, Giselle; I’m just balancing the scales and finishing what I started,” he replied, smooth as ever.
“And what is that supposed to mean?!”
“The divorce you’ve been convincing yourself would never happen? It’s real now… andpermanent.”
“How, if I never signed any papers?”
Robert let out a slow, almost bored exhale, like he’d been waiting for that question.
“Giselle, you don’t have to sign anything for a divorce to go through. I filedandserved notice.Yourefused to sign, thinking that meant it wouldn’t move forward. That’s not how this works. When one person files and follows procedure, the process keeps moving with or without the other’s cooperation. Judges don’t stall because you decided to stick your head in the sand. And let’s be honest—money speedseverythingup. When a person has the right lawyers and the right resources, delays disappear and judges stop entertaining games. So while you were busy pretending, I was busy finalizing. You’re free now, Giselle… just not in the way you wanted.”
I could barely breathe, the walls closing in around me.
“I gave you almost forty years of my life?—”
“And you spent the last twenty trying to play God,” he interjected, the contempt in his voice sharpening. “Imanio warned you, but you couldn’t help yourself.”
“T-This is about that girl, isn’t it?! The one with the disease!”
“Watch your mouth!” he growled, the warning chilling me. “Naji has more grace in her pinky than you’ve had in your entire designer wardrobe.”
“I see what’s going on! Y’all are trying to ruin me!” I shouted, voice cracking.
“No need for us to go out of our way to do that when you did it yourself.”
Suddenly, the sharp chime of the doorbell sliced through the air, followed by heavy, deliberate knocks.
“Who’s …” I began.
“You might want to get that,” Robert cut in, smugly, amusement lacing his tone.
My mind raced, trying to piece together what else he had set in motion.
I stormed to the front door, heart racing, and flung it open with a force that echoed through the foyer. There, standing resolutely on my doorstep, were two police officers—one tall, mid-thirties and imposing, the other shorter, older, but equally serious. Their eyes swept past me into the house, their expressions leaving no room for negotiation.
“Hi,” I greeted dryly, arms folded tight across my chest. “How may I help you?” The words dripped with irritation, like they were wasting my time just standing there.
“Mrs. Kors… or shall I say, Ms. Russell?” the younger looking officer intoned, his voice steady yet cold. “We’re here to escort you off the property. You are no longer permitted to reside here.”
My mouth fell open in disbelief.
“I’m sorry—what?! This is my home! I’m not going anywhere!”
The officer, unmoved by my protest, calmly pulled out a thick stack of papers.
“It wasyourhome ma’am… until Mr. Kors filed for and was granted an exclusive title transfer as part of the divorce judgment,” he stated firmly, handing me the paper. “You’ve been served.”
