Chapter 7 - The Settlement Breakdown
The mediation dragged into its sixth agonizing hour.
Teresa had spent the entire afternoon pacing the lobby outside Evelyn’s office, periodically banging on the frosted glass door until building security threatened to have her physically removed from the property. Every time the door cracked open, her screeching could be heard down the hallway: *"Don't you sign anything, Mason! Mommy’s getting a real lawyer! Mommy is calling the governor!"*
Inside the room, the terms were laid out like a surrender treaty at the end of a catastrophic war.
Evelyn slid the final draft of the marital settlement agreement across the mahogany surface. The document was sixty-four pages long, bound with steel staples, and smelled of fresh toner.
"Here are the baseline conditions," Evelyn announced, tapping her fountain pen against the cover page. "One: Maya Miller receives sole legal and physical custody of Leo Miller-Vance. You, Mr. Vance, will be granted supervised visitation every other Saturday for three hours at an accredited county family resource center, contingent upon the successful completion of an anger management course and an eight-week infant care certification."
"Supervised?!" Mason gasped, slamming his hands onto the table. "I have to be supervised to see my own son?!"
"Given that your primary reaction to his birth was packing his mother’s bags to avoid hearing him cry, yes," Evelyn said without looking up. "Furthermore, after your mother’s unhinged performance at the public farmers market, any contact between Teresa Vance and the child is permanently barred under a five-year civil restraining order."
"She's his grandmother!"
"She's a liability," Gary, his own lawyer, muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "Sign it, Mason. Supervised is better than suspended."
"Two," Evelyn continued smoothly. "Child support is calculated based on your imputed earning capacity of seventy-two thousand dollars per year—the salary you held before you were terminated for cause due to corporate expense fraud. That amounts to nine hundred and forty dollars per month, payable via state wage garnishment the moment you secure new employment."
Mason stared at the figure. Nine hundred and forty dollars a month. With no job, no savings, and living in his mother’s basement.
"Three: You formally relinquish any and all claims to Unit 304 at Willow Creek Lane. You acknowledge that you have zero ownership, zero equity, and zero tenancy rights. In exchange, Richard Miller agrees to drop his civil lawsuit against you for back rent and municipal plumbing damages."
Mason looked up at Maya, his eyes pleading, desperate, broken. "And my things? What about the rest of my stuff?"
Maya reached into her purse and pulled out an itemized receipt.
"Your unopened gaming console is currently listed on eBay," Maya said with a sweet, razor-thin smile. "The proceeds are going directly into Leo’s college 529 savings account. As for your golf clubs and designer suits, they are currently sitting in two cardboard boxes at the curb outside your mother’s house. I had them couriered over an hour ago."
Mason slumped back in his chair. Every escape route was blocked. Every scheme had collapsed. Every selfish calculation he had made while Maya was in labor had turned into a concrete block tied around his ankles.
He looked at Gary. Gary simply slid the pen toward him and pointed to the yellow signature tabs.
"Sign, Mason," Gary said gently. "Unless you want to explain that crypto account to a family court judge on Monday morning."
With trembling fingers, his blistered hands barely able to grip the heavy brass pen, Mason signed his name.
*Mason Vance.*
*Mason Vance.*
*Mason Vance.*
Page after page. Relinquishing his home. Relinquishing his pride. Relinquishing the comfortable, parasitic life he had taken for granted for two years.
When the last page was turned, Evelyn gathered the documents with a crisp, professional snap, sliding them into her leather briefcase.
May you like
"Congratulations, Mr. Vance," Evelyn said, standing up and buttoning her jacket. "You are officially a divorced, single man with ample time for rest. I suggest you catch up on your sleep."
***
