“Mr. Brooks,” she said, “I will review your supplemental materials. Mr. Vale, you will have an opportunity to respond. But given the nature of these allegations, this court will not proceed as though today is a routine division of assets.”
Jason placed both hands on the defense table.
“This is my company,” he said, his voice low and strained. “I built it.”
The judge’s eyes moved to him. “Mr. Mitchell.”
He ignored the warning.
“I built everything. She never cared about the business. She spent years hiding in that house, taking pills, crying into pillows, refusing to attend events. Now she walks in here with some old scars and expects everyone to hand her my life?”
The courtroom seemed to contract around me.
There it was.
The version of me he had created for public use. The fragile wife. The silent woman. The problem hidden behind mansion gates and tasteful charity dinners.
