“We need to file the annulment today,” I say without preamble, approaching in a rush of words. “I’ve already drafted a joint statement emphasizing mutual respect and requesting privacy. We’ll need to contact Dylan about backing out of the documentary. I’m happy to handle that call if you prefer. I think that if we move quickly, this whole thing will blow over in a week, two max.”
Lucas removes his sunglasses slowly and looks at me with an unreadable expression. “Hello to you, too, wife.”
“Don’t call me that,” I hiss, glancing around for potential eavesdroppers.
Still, the word zings through me, quick and warm. The worst part? I kind of like how it sounds coming from him.
“Right.” His voice is oddly flat. “Let’s get this over with.”
Something about his demeanor unsettles me. He’s usually more combative, but I don’t have time to analyze it as we enter the building and take the elevator to the top floor in silence.
Victoria Wexler, my attorney, greets us warmly in her corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. She’s handled my contract negotiations and set up the paperwork to start my podcast, but I’ve never seen her look quite so intrigued.
“Jessica, Lucas, please have a seat.” She gestures to the chairs across from her desk. “I’ve reviewed your case, and I have some important information to share before we proceed.”
“We’d like to file for an annulment as soon as possible,” I say, settling into my chair. “On whatever grounds will end this immediately.”
“Yes, you mentioned that on the phone.” Victoria opens a folder. “However, there’s a complication I need to discuss with you first.”
Lucas shifts beside me. “What kind of complication?”
Victoria looks at me. “Jessica, your marriage has triggered a trust provision established by your mother before she passed away.”
I blink. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Your mother set up a trust for you as part of her estateplanning. It contains a significant inheritance from her personal investment portfolio and a board seat on the Reynolds Foundation for Journalism Ethics.”
My mind reels. Mom has been gone for almost seventeen years. She was always passionate about the truth. The Reynolds Foundation is one of the most respected organizations supporting investigative reporting and ethics in media, and one of Mom’s proudest moments was when she started serving on the board.
“I didn’t know about any trust,” I say slowly.
“Your parents kept it confidential. According to the documentation, they didn’t want it to influence your life choices.” Victoria smiles gently. “Your mother specifically noted that she didn’t want you feeling pressured to marry for financial reasons, nor did she want potential partners pursuing you for the inheritance.”
“So, what’s the issue?” Lucas asks.
Victoria turns a document toward us. “The trust was structured to release when Jessica either married or turned thirty-five, whichever came first. Your Vegas wedding has activated the release clause.”
I frown. “But if we annul?—”
“If you annul or divorce within six months, the assets revert to a charitable foundation your mother established,” Victoria explains. “You would still receive a modest distribution, but the bulk, approximately twelve million dollars in current valuation, would go to the foundation.”
The room seems to tilt slightly.
“Twelve million dollars?” I repeat, my voice thinner than I want it to be.
“Including that board seat on the Reynolds Foundation,” she adds, “which I know you’ve expressed admiration for in the past.” She glances between us. “It’s a position that could give you significant influence in shaping the future of journalism ethics.”
I feel Lucas’s eyes on me, but I can’t look at him. I can’t look at anything.
Twelve million dollars. A seat at the table I’ve dreamed of. And my mom…my mom built this. She built it for me. It’s like she’s reaching out from the grave, not just with a check but with a whisper:I see you. I see the path you chose. I believe in it.
I swallow hard, and my fingers curl into my lap. My chest is tight, not from the money but from the meaning underneath. The weight of what I thought I’d had to prove for all these years just lifted.
After she died, it was like the world around me calcified. Austin and I stayed close, since we were the two kids left at home who lost the same person and were trying to pretend we didn’t. Dad was good, steady, warm. He made it through somehow. But Garrett left for college and never really came back in the same way. He got his share, I assume. He never said a word. I don’t blame him.
Maybe Mom always knew I’d need something different. Not just money, not just freedom, but proof. That I mattered. That the choices I made by following her into journalism instead of sports, using my voice instead of my swing, weren’t wrong.
“This trust,” Lucas says, his voice careful, “requires her to stay married for at least six months?”
