Change of Venue
Flicka von Hannover
I had never felt trapped before,
and it was only the beginning.
Flicka sat cross-legged on the floor of the van where someone had thoughtfully thrown a rug, glaring at the paperwork.
Aaron Savoie sat in the driver’s seat, leaning on the steering wheel and watching out the front window at the deserted alley. He had found a side alley a few streets away for them to park.
Another guy sat in the passenger seat, surveilling, and yet another was watching out the window in the back door of the van.
The lawyer, Joachim Blanchard, had spread paperwork over the van’s floor. He’d taken off his suit coat and rolled up his sleeves. Though his paunch impeded his movements, he was leaned over and was speaking rapidly to Flicka, pointing at various clauses within the prenuptial agreement that had been circled, highlighted, or annotated in red pen.
Dieter sat on the couch-seat in the back of the van, frowning, his arms crossed over his chest.
“So, there’s nothing that I can just sign,” Flicka said. After all those negotiations, all that back and forth and consultations and opinions and edits and lawyers from four countries and three US states for a year, it was alluselesswhen she needed it.
“I’m afraid not,” Blanchard said. “It was designed to protect both of you financially in the unlikely case of a divorce, not to facilitate one.”
Flicka felt like scooping up all the useless paper and tossing it out the window, but she would never be so demonstrative. “Thank you for your time, Monsieur Blanchard. You’ve been very helpful.”
“In addition, I must advise you not to seek a divorce in France.”
“But we married in Paris.”
“French divorce laws are very strict, a holdover from our Catholic past. The couple must live apart for at least a year before filing—”
“A year!”Her voice betrayed her desperation. Flicka sat back, settling herself. “There’s been a problem. I can’t wait a year.”
“That’s just for the filing. Proceedings can be lengthy.”
Her heart hammered in her chest. “That’s entirely unacceptable.”
“The French waiting periods and restrictions are why His Royal Highness Wulfram insisted that we include a clause stating that if a divorce were to be sought within the first five years, the state of Nevada in the United States should be designated as the venue.”
“Where is that?” Flicka asked, her mind too upset to think properly.
“It’s Las Vegas, madam,” the lawyer said.
“Oh. I haven’t been there.”
Dieter said, “It’s quite a place. In the West. Only a few hours from Wulfram’s house.”
The lawyer piped up, “Divorce requirements there are quite minimal. As the prenuptial agreement specifies the venue and division of property, it might even be completedin absentiaof the other party.”
“So I don’t have to even tell him?”
“Oh no. He must be notified, even from Nevada. He could conceivably contest it, though that would invoke further considerations and penalties if he loses, which he probably would. It’s hard to contest a divorce these days. Hopefully, Prince Pierre Grimaldi will see reason and allow the divorce to proceed uncontested, which is best for all parties involved.”
Flicka doubted that would happen. Pierre had good reason to believe he would lose his Catholic throne if he were divorced.
Maybe he should convert to the Anglican religion. The Anglicans had centuries of precedent that divorcees could take a throne.
“The main problem, of course, is residency,” the lawyer continued. “You must establish that you are a resident of Nevada, and this generally takes six weeks.”
Horror.“Sixweeks!”
