12
Chapter 12: Astoria
The call came at 4:47 p.m. on a Friday, which was exactly when Valerie would have timed it.
Astoria was reviewing the quarterly sustainability report when Gerald’s name lit up her phone screen. She considered letting it go to voicemail—she was nearly finished with work, and the weekend stretched ahead with the promise of uninterrupted quiet—but Gerald didn’t call on Friday afternoons unless something had gone wrong.
She answered on the third ring. “What did she do?”
There was a pause, then Gerald, with an edge in his voice, said, “She filed an emergency motion about an hour ago claiming you violated the temporary orders.”
Astoria set down her pen. “On what grounds?”
“The Cascadia contract. She’s claiming the capital expenditure approval last week required her notification under the temporary orders and that you deliberately circumvented the process to diminish marital assets.”
The Cascadia project, her sustainable hotel development that was two years in planning. It was the crown jewel of Shepry Global’s expansion into eco-tourism. Astoria had followed every protocol, documented every decision, and copied Gerald on every significant communication precisely because she’d known Valerie would look for ammunition.
And yet still…
“That’s absurd,” Astoria said, her voice flat and unaffected. “The notification requirements apply to asset sales and new debt instruments. Capital expenditures from approved operating budgets don’t require spousal notification. We confirmed this with the court already.”
“I know. And we’ll make that argument Monday morning.”
“Monday,” she said dryly.
“Yes. An emergency hearing, nine a.m. on Judge Whitcombe’s docket.” Gerald’s tone carried the particular wariness of a man who had spent over forty years watching people use the legal system as a weapon. “I’m sorry, Astoria. I know you had plans this weekend.”
She hadn’t, actually. Her plans had consisted of an empty house, perhaps a swim if the weather held, and the continued effort of not thinking about things she couldn’t afford to think about. But Gerald didn’t need to know that.
“What do you need from me?”
“Documentation first. I need every email, memo, and sign-off related to the Cascadia approval. I want a paper trail so clean it squeaks.” She heard him shifting papers on his end. “I’ll draft the response tonight and tomorrow. But I also need case law, specifically recent precedents on breach-of-order claims in high-asset divorces, specifically where the alleged breach involved routine business operations. There’s a law review article from last year I want to cite, but I need the supporting cases.”
“The courthouse law library?—”
“Has everything we need, yes. I’d go myself, but I want to focus on the response brief.”
Astoria was already closing the sustainability report after saving the file, her mind shifting into crisis mode efficiently. This was manageable. Frustrating, manipulative, and exhausting, yes, but manageable. “I’ll head there now. Send me the citation for the article, and I’ll pull the precedents.”
“I’ll email it in five minutes.” Gerald paused. “Astoria.”
“Yes?”
“This is harassment. We both know that. The motion has no merit, and Judge Whitcombe will see through it. But Valerie is counting on the disruption, the expense, and the sheer exhaustion of having to defend yourself over and over.”
“I know what she’s counting on.”
Her marriage had taught her exactly how Valerie operated. The Friday filing wasn’t accidental. It was strategic and designed to maximize disruption while minimizing her response time. Valerie would have known Astoria had plans, or would assume she did, and the thought of ruining them would have been part of the appeal.
“Don’t let her see you rattled,” Gerald said.
“I never do.”
She ended the call and sat for a moment in the silence of her corner office. The sun had shifted while they talked, casting long shadows across her desk. Gloria had left an hour ago, and the executive floor was empty, the weekend exodus complete.
Astoria allowed herself thirty seconds of something that wasn't quite anger. It was deeper than that, more worn. She’d endured eight months of this. Eight months of motions and countermotions, of accusations dressed up in legal language, of her entire life picked apart and examined and found wanting. She'd built an empire from nothing, but she couldn't seem to build a wall high enough to keep Valerie out.
The thirty seconds ended. Astoria gathered her laptop, her phone, and the leather portfolio she always carried to meetings. She checked her reflection in the window glass—composed, immaculate, the ice queen who never cracked—and walked out of her office.
