“Your case is no different,” she cuts in. “You’re free to do whatever you want. I’m not a divorce lawyer, but you and your husband have no shared assets. My guess is it would be fairly simple. And probably quite fast, too.” How fast, I want to ask. “But,” she continues, “it would obviously have implications for your husband. If you got divorced before his permanent green card was granted, his application would be canceled. That would be the end of the road for him in this country.”
“Even if he found a job and could support himself?”
“We’ve gone through this before.”
Have we? It’s possible I wasn’t paying enough attention. When Olivier said he would only go home with me if we were married, I didn’t see the big deal. It was a quick trip to City Hall. We didn’t tell anyone. It didn’t really count, you know?
When I don’t say anything, the attorney continues. “The only way your husband is allowed to work is through his green card, meaning through his marriage to you. Right now, he’s been granted a temporary authorization while his paperwork is in progress. But if that were to be stopped, Mr. Laurent would have to leave the country immediately. The Department of Homeland Security doesn’t look kindly on immigrants who overstay their welcome. And if he did try to stay, he could be deported. He might never be allowed back in the United States. Obviously you know your husband better than I do”—she pauses, as if expecting me to confirm that—“but I got the sense that he was determined to continue living here. Which requires you two to stay married, for now at least.”
The thing is, I’m feeling ready to be done thinking about Olivier, about what’s good forhim. “Right, but say we didn’t stay married, what would happen tome?”
A loud cough startles me and I whip around to find an elderly man whose path I’m blocking.Sorry, I mouth, moving out of the way. He only shakes his head in response. Rude.
“You’re the American citizen, Ms. Laurent. You hold all the cards here. Most likely, you’d be completely free from the moment the divorce papers were signed.”
“Most likely?”
She clicks her tongue. “As we’ve discussed before, and I’m not saying you did that, we’re talking in hypotheticals here, but entering into a marriage for the sole purpose of supplying a green card to an alien is a federal crime and carries a sentence of up to five years in jail. However, if you were to willingly stop the fraud before the process was completed, the Department of Homeland Security would be unlikely to find out, which means there’s not a lot to worry about on that front.”
A couple of well-dressed women go past me, eye my new shoes, and nod approvingly. Yes, yes, my sandals are gorgeous, but I don’t think they’ll let me keep those in prison. Except I’m most likely not going to prison is what I’m hearing. Still, it feels like one of these things I should be certain of.
“So Icanget divorced?” I say, when the women are out of earshot.
Darren wouldn’t go for an affair; I’m sure of it. He wouldn’t touch me until Olivier was well and truly out of the picture.
“Of course. People fall out of love. It happens. Especially when they get married as quickly as you and Mr. Laurent did.”
“But?” I continue for her, because I don’t need this woman to sugarcoat it for me. Besides, Olivier is going to wonder where I am.
“But things might get a little complicated if the decision to divorce is not mutual. Disgruntled ex-spouses are a breed of their own. Ask me how I know.” She chuckles.
“Right, so I can get divorced and I probably won’t get in trouble for the whole thing. But if I did that, hypothetically, what could Olivier do to me?”
At least I already know he’s not getting any of the money.
“Was that your emergency?” When I don’t respond, she lets out a deep sigh before speaking again. “Let’s put it this way: you might not want to be with him anymore, but for your husband, divorcing now means a significant life change. You might be faced with a man who has nothing left to lose, and those are the most dangerous people.”
After I hang up with Erica Min, I stand there frozen. Olivier loves me. He wants to be with me forever. So what happens if I destroy his entire future, his dream, and his whole life? I’m not sure I want to find out.
Chapter 12
Olivier
Two months before the honeymoon
It took me two weeks to accept that Cassie was not going back to New York City, not even for a few days. First there was her birthday party, at which I’d expected her to announce to her friends that we were engaged. Surprise! Wedding incoming! Instead, she’d barely spoken to me all night, at least not until her ex, Darren, arrived. Then she was all over me, bragging loudly about how successful I was, turning me into a work acquaintance of her father rather than a lowly tenant living in his basement. Her group of friends listened eagerly at how much fun we’d had in the city. Cassie gushed about how “generous” I was, how I’d wined and dined her all over town.
Then she moved on to how I’d wanted to come here to spend more time with her, because it was all about Cassie, Cassie, Cassie. At some point, her “best friend,” Brianna—who even has best friends at our age?—started making eyes at me, and far from being ticked off, Cassie low-key gloated. So this was how it was going to go. With a twist of Cassie’s imagination I’d become this rich guy who had fallen so deeply for her that I was more than happy to leave my fancy job and glitzy city life behind. And still, she made no mention of our situation, the wedding, the engagement, whatever she wanted to call it.
And then there was the appointment I’d set up with the immigrationlawyer, Erica Min, back in the city. I reminded Cassie half a dozen times, and even then, I felt like I practically had to drag her there. She complained about taking the train but wouldn’t drive, either. In the end, she handed me her car keys, begrudgingly.
Inside, Cassie plugged in her phone and played a pop playlist on extra-loud as she stared out the window, barely saying two words to me. She looked like a lovelorn teenage girl, and me like a dad who was taking her to school against her will.
Still, crossing the George Washington Bridge, I felt a jolt of joy. My body thrummed with want as the skyscrapers came into view. As I drove down the West Side Highway, I thought about the first time I went to Times Square, almost a year ago now. I’d stared at the neon lights with total awe, the wind knocked out of me by the greatness of it all. After all the setbacks I’d gone through, my darkest times, I found myself living in the most exciting place on earth.
Today was different. I had to scrape the bottom of my bank account for the lawyer’s fees, and I was only able to afford a woman who worked out of a mildewy basement office in Midtown East. There were dubious stains on the orange carpet, and the coffee Erica Min offered us was spit-out disgusting.
“So, let me get this straight. You two barely know each other, and you got married just as your visa was about to expire,” she said, after consulting the folder I’d carefully put together.
