Engaged In Danger

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

How did the crazies always find me? I wondered. Was someone passing my card out in the psych ward? This lady had seemed so normal, too. I glanced at her hand; she had nicely manicured nails but no wedding ring. Perhaps her husband was imaginary. Even if he was, it was all the same to me. I offer a free fifteen minute consultation to everyone and she still had thirteen minutes left.

Keeping my voice neutral, I said, "Why don't you tell me what's going on, Nan?"

She locked her eyes on mine as if holding them prisoner and then jumped right into her story--if you can call it a story. Look, I don't mind if someone starts in the middle--sometimes that's the best way--but words were pouring out of her so fast, they were trampling each other like shoppers on Black Friday. I caught only every third word or so, but my ears perked up for the juicy ones, like 'underage girlfriend', 'Russian assassins', and 'goddamn liar'.

This wasn't working, but, luckily, it wasn't my first time in this situation. With a reassuring smile, I held up my hand to say 'hang on' and dialed the receptionist.

"Could you please bring me a coffee?" I gestured to Nan and she nodded. "Make that two coffees, thanks." Personally, I didn't think Nan needed any more caffeine, but it wasn't my call.

I leaned forward in my chair. "How about if I ask you some questions, Nan? Then we'll see whether I can help you."

She relaxed, softening her ramrod posture and loosening her grip on the edge of my desk. "Okay," she said, "I'm ready."

"How long have you been married?" I asked.

"Thirty-five years."

"Kids?"

"One daughter."

"Over eighteen?" I added.

"Yes." Nan smiled.

"Are you and your husband living together?"

"Separated since last year."

"Do you work?" I asked.

"Just volunteer work for charities," she answered.

I nodded. They must have money.

"Do you own real property?"

"Yes."

"Can you give me an idea of what you own?"

"I'm sorry, I can't."

I stopped taking notes and looked up. "May I ask why not?"

Nan G. pushed her silver hair back from her forehead in frustration.

"Because I don't know."

"Alright," I said. "Is there a marital home?"

"Yes, that's where I live. He moved into a penthouse on the beach."

"And do the two of you own the penthouse?"

"I believe so." She sighed. "I'm sorry I'm not much help. My husband keeps me in the dark about everything--our finances, what we own, what's going on. I'm so sick of it!" Tears started rolling down her cheek.

I handed her the box of tissues on my desk. My clients go through them quickly, which is why I buy them by the case.

"How do you support yourself?" I asked as gently as I could.

"My husband pays the bills and I have a credit card I can use for whatever I need."

"Doesn't sound like a bad deal," I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Nan shook her head. "It's not the money. The problem is he's doing business with some very sketchy people. He thinks he's so slick, but he's in over his head. Not that I care. And the girlfriends, they get younger and younger. Now he's dating some bimbo who's our daughter's age. It's disgusting and it's humiliating…"

I patted her hand which was resting on my desk. "Believe me, nobody will think less of you because of his bad behavior. But I understand how upsetting this is."

I gave her a moment to regain her composure before giving her the tough news.

"Nan, I have to tell you that in cases like yours, there's a lot of work to do. The attorney has to be a combination detective and treasure hunter to track down all the assets. It takes mountains of paperwork and tons of time. A forensic accountant usually has to be brought in to analyze everything. The process is called 'discovery' and it can get very expensive."

She nodded. "I know what discovery is. My husband is a lawyer."

I started to have a bad feeling about this case. What wasn't she telling me?

She pointed to The Florida Bar Journal on my desk. I always read it cover to cover although it rarely had articles that applied to me. Considering that I had to pay my bar dues in order to receive it, it was the most expensive magazine subscription I ever bought. That's why I made myself read it; I'm a woman of principles.

When I handed her the magazine, she opened it and pointed to a picture of a man shaking hands with the governor.

I recognized him immediately. Of course I did--he was in every society page, on every charity's donor roll; he had just opened a night club and a restaurant and drove a different sports car every week. For some reason, he felt the need to have bodyguards with him at all times. He was only the most famous/infamous attorney in town and his name was Marvin Glasser. I was confused, but Nan soon set me straight.

"That's my husband," she said.