Chapter 10 - A Chair at the Table
By Monday, Marcos had stopped asking Laura to come home.
He wanted a meeting.
One hour.
No Elena.
No Valeria.
No accountant.
“My lawyer will attend,” Laura told him.
“You always hated involving strangers.”
“I’m learning.”
They met at Nora’s office.
Marcos arrived in the wheelchair.
Laura looked at it.
Then at him.
He gave a weary smile.
“Stress makes the symptoms worse.”
Nora indicated the table.
“Sit wherever you’re comfortable.”
His attorney placed a folder in front of him.
Marcos slid it toward Laura.
“A fair agreement,” he said. “You keep your personal account. We split the house. We stop hurting each other.”
Laura didn’t touch the folder.
“What about my studio?”
“That business was failing.”
“Beth has the revised offer.”
He blinked.
Only once.
“What about the therapy money?” Laura asked.
“You agreed to support me.”
“What about my signature on the house sale?”
His attorney shifted.
“Let’s keep the discussion focused.”
Laura looked at him.
“It is focused.”
Nora opened a thin binder.
Inside were copies.
Nothing original.
Nothing they couldn’t replace.
She placed the disputed sale agreement beside the studio payment records.
Marcos stared at the pages.
His attorney leaned toward him and whispered something.
Marcos whispered back.
Then he looked at Laura.
“You don’t understand how complicated the last two years have been.”
“I understand that you charged me for living through them.”
His face reddened.
“You had choices.”
“Not the ones you gave me.”
He pushed away from the table.
The wheelchair moved a few inches.
His attorney put a hand on the armrest.
“Marcos.”
But Marcos was already standing.
He caught himself halfway up.
Too late.
Again.
Laura watched him settle back into the seat.
Nobody commented.
That silence was worse for him than laughter.
Nora closed the binder.
“There will be no agreement today.”
Marcos leaned toward Laura.
“You should think carefully about what happens if this becomes public.”
“I have.”
“People will ask questions about you too.”
“They can.”
His mouth tightened.
For the first time, she didn’t try to rescue the conversation.
He left without looking at her.
An hour later, Beth called.
Her voice was shaking.
“Laura, someone broke into my car.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No. But my work bag is gone.”
Laura closed her eyes.
May you like
Inside that bag was Beth’s old laptop.
The one containing the original sale emails.
