Then the real divorce began, the right way.
Elena filed a petition for dissolution of marriage the following week, with Nate properly served by a process server at his office in front of his coworkers. His attorney negotiated quickly. Nate didn’t have much leverage, with a referral to the State’s Attorney hanging over him.
The house sold that fall for $512,000. From the proceeds, First Lakeshore Bank was paid off on the home equity line. The bank’s title insurer had already agreed to cover the loss rather than litigate the validity of a mortgage based on a void deed, and then it went after Nate for repayment. The original mortgage was paid off. Of the remaining equity, about $187,000, the court awarded me the large majority, crediting me for the five years of mortgage payments I’d made alone and for the $88,400 Nate took from my 401(k).
The 401(k) money itself was gone, gambled away. But the judgment required Nate to repay the full $88,400, plus the taxes and early withdrawal penalties that were now his problem, not mine. The IRS sent him a bill for $27,000 in taxes and penalties on money he never should have touched.
My inheritance was never part of the case. It stayed exactly where Uncle Martin and Patricia Wong had put it, in a trust in my name alone, completely separate from anything Nate and I ever shared. When Nate’s attorney made a half-hearted attempt to claim a share, Elena pointed out that the inheritance was received after the marriage had fallen apart, kept entirely separate, and never touched a joint account. The attorney withdrew the request in a two-line email.
The Cook County State’s Attorney charged Nate with forgery, perjury, and theft. In January, he pleaded guilty to forgery and theft over $10,000. He was sentenced to three years of probation, ordered into a gambling addiction treatment program, required to perform 400 hours of community service, and ordered to pay restitution.
Barbara was charged with conspiracy to commit forgery. She pleaded guilty in exchange for probation and restitution.
Carol Dempsey lost her notary commission permanently and paid a fine to the Secretary of State.
Our marriage was legally dissolved on a gray morning in March, almost exactly a year after I sat in Mr. Henderson’s office. This time, I was in the courtroom, I signed my own name, and everything was true.
Nate called me once after the divorce was final.
I almost didn’t answer. Then I picked up.
“Hannah,” he said. His voice sounded different, quieter. “I’ve been in treatment for six months now. Gamblers Anonymous three times a week. A therapist who doesn’t let me get away with anything.”
“I’m glad, Nate.”
“I wanted to tell you something. You don’t have to say anything back.” He took a breath. “My counselor asked me to write down the moment I knew I’d gone too far. And I wrote down the day in the hospital. You had a fever of 103, and you asked me whether the mortgage cleared. You were sick, and you were worried about making sure I was okay.” His voice cracked. “And I had the papers in my car.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he said. “I just wanted you to know I remember. I’ll always remember.”
“Thank you for telling me,” I said.
After we hung up, I sat on the balcony of my new condo for a long time. It was a two-bedroom place on the twentieth floor of a building in Lincoln Park, with a view of the lake. I’d bought it in cash, with my name alone on the deed, and I’d read every page of the closing documents twice.
I hadn’t touched most of the inheritance. Mr. Henderson helped me set up a conservative investment plan, and I kept working, partly because I loved my job and partly because I’d learned that being financially independent isn’t really about having money. It’s about knowing exactly where your money is.
I did a few things with it, though.
I paid off Gavin and Zoe’s mortgage. Gavin cried and tried to refuse. Zoe made him take it.
“You took me in when I had nowhere to go,” I told them. “You believed me before I had any proof.”
I funded a scholarship at the community college where I took my night classes, in my mother’s name, for women going back to school while working full-time.
And I donated $250,000 to a nonprofit in Chicago that helps families affected by gambling addiction, with a note asking them to put part of it toward legal help for spouses who discover financial fraud.
