Chapter 4 - THE BLUE NOTEBOOK
I called a family lawyer before I called Thomas again.
Her name was Erin Walsh.
Megan had used her during her own custody case seven years earlier.
“She’s expensive,” Megan warned.
“So is ignorance.”
Erin met me at her office near Monument Square on Monday morning.
Oliver was at school.
I brought everything.
The HELOC application.
Carter Coastal formation records.
The draft salon sale.
Bank transfers.
Mortgage history.
Thomas’s texts.
And Oliver’s comment about the blue notebook.
Erin read quietly.
Then looked up.
“Has Thomas threatened divorce?”
“No.”
“Mentioned custody?”
“No.”
“Ever accused you of being absent?”
“All the time.”
“In writing?”
I thought.
“Maybe.”
“Find it.”
“Why?”
“Because if he is building a narrative that you are voluntarily absent from parenting, we need context.”
“I work.”
“I know.”
“Parents work.”
“I know.”
“Beatrice watches him some afternoons because Thomas says his schedule is unpredictable.”
“What does Thomas do?”
“Regional sales for a building-supply distributor.”
“Hours?”
“Supposedly eight to five.”
“Supposedly?”
“He’s home a lot.”
Erin wrote something.
“School pickup?”
“Usually Beatrice Monday through Thursday. I pick Oliver up Fridays if my last client cancels.”
“Doctor appointments?”
“Mostly me.”
“School meetings?”
“Me.”
“Activities?”
“Both.”
“Does Thomas care for Oliver?”
“Yes.”
The answer came quickly.
That mattered.
Thomas was not a stranger to our son.
He read bedtime stories.
Taught him to ride a bike.
Made ridiculous dinosaur-shaped pancakes.
I was furious at Thomas.
I would not rewrite his fatherhood to make myself feel cleaner.
Erin nodded.
“Good. We stay accurate.”
“What do I do about the notebook?”
“Do not take property from the house just because you think it helps you.”
“It’s my house.”
“The notebook is likely Beatrice’s personal property.”
“Right.”
“We obtain evidence properly if litigation starts.”
“What if they destroy it?”
“We document what you know. There may be other ways to establish schedules.”
She looked at the financial records again.
“Did you authorize your husband to manage business accounts?”
“Yes.”
“That complicates the transfers.”
“Because I gave him access.”
“Yes. Unauthorized in the marital sense and illegal are not the same question.”
“I know.”
“Did he have permission to pay household expenses?”
“Yes.”
“Did he have permission to pay Beatrice seventy-three thousand dollars?”
“No.”
“We trace purpose.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I ignored it.
Then again.
Voicemail.
Casco Bay Credit Union fraud department.
I called immediately.
They had frozen the HELOC file.
They also wanted to discuss the fake email account and uploaded financial statement.
“Do I need a lawyer?”
The investigator said, “You may consult one if you wish. At this stage we’re gathering information.”
I answered carefully.
No, I did not create the email.
No, I did not authorize the application.
No, I did not sign the acknowledgment.
Yes, Thomas had access to tax records.
No, he did not have authority to pledge my separately owned property.
The investigator asked whether I wanted the application withdrawn.
“Yes.”
Immediately.
That part was easy.
Then came the less easy part.
The bank file contained a scanned letter supposedly from me.
Dear Melissa,
My work schedule is unpredictable, so Thomas is authorized to coordinate financial documents on my behalf. I trust his judgment and expect to sign any final papers he recommends.
My name sat at the bottom.
Mara Carter.
Not a digital signature.
A typed name.
I had never written it.
The investigator preserved it.
I called Erin afterward.
“Can typed lies matter?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Don’t sound happy.”
“I’m learning.”
That afternoon, I went to Harbor & Pine.
I changed every password.
Merchant processor.
Bank.
QuickBooks.
Payroll.
Email.
Booking system.
Thomas’s admin account was disabled.
So was Carter Coastal Holdings.
Denise sat beside me at the front desk after closing.
“I should’ve called.”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“I thought married couples handled things.”
“So did I.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“No.”
She looked miserable.
I softened slightly.
“Help me fix it.”
“I will.”
We traced MHC payments.
Some matched actual household expenses.
Beatrice had paid a plumber once.
Bought groceries several times.
Covered Oliver’s summer-camp deposit.
Total legitimate reimbursements we could identify:
$6,418.
The remaining $67,442 had no documentation.
Then Denise found another series.
Payments coded:
Owner draw — Mara.
$31,000 over nine months.
I had not taken them.
“Where did they go?”
Denise clicked.
Joint household account.
Then immediately out.
Recipient:
PINE STATE COMMUNITY BANK.
I stared.
“What’s that?”
“Loan payment?”
We traced the ACH.
Borrower:
Carter Coastal Holdings LLC.
Thomas, Beatrice, and Cassandra had already borrowed $95,000.
Before the HELOC.
My salon money had been making payments.
“What did they buy?”
Denise opened the business file.
Commercial lease deposit.
Equipment order.
Design retainer.
Falmouth retail space.
Cass & Coast was not an idea.
They had already signed a lease.
I called the landlord.
He would not discuss tenant details beyond public information.
Fair.
But the Maine UCC filing was public.
Collateral included salon chairs, manicure stations, spa equipment, and “assigned customer data subject to acquisition.”
Assigned customer data.
Mine.
I felt sick.
At seven, Erin called.
“Are you sitting?”
“No.”
“Sit.”
I did.
“I searched the court docket.”
My stomach tightened.
“Thomas filed for divorce this morning.”
For a second, I heard nothing.
“What?”
“Complaint for divorce with minor child.”
“When?”
“8:14 a.m.”
“Before I met you.”
“Yes.”
“Has he served me?”
“Not yet.”
“What is he asking for?”
“Shared parental rights and responsibilities.”
I exhaled slightly.
Then she continued.
“With primary residence of Oliver to him.”
My fingers went cold.
“On what basis?”
Erin paused.
“He alleges your work schedule keeps you away from the home sixty to seventy hours weekly.”
I stared through the dark salon windows.
“He asked me to work those hours.”
“I know.”
“He lied about the mortgage.”
“I know.”
“He moved salon money.”
“I know.”
“What else?”
“He requests temporary exclusive occupancy of the marital residence during the case.”
“My house.”
“Your premarital ownership is relevant to final property issues, but temporary occupancy can still be requested in some circumstances. We will oppose it.”
I could barely breathe.
“Witnesses?”
“His affidavit refers to Beatrice Carter.”
Of course.
“And the blue notebook?”
Erin exhaled.
“He attached excerpts.”
My vision sharpened.
“What do they say?”
“Mara leaves 7:10 a.m.”
“Mara home 9:42 p.m.”
“Mara missed dinner.”
“Mara worked Saturday.”
“Mara unavailable for bedtime.”
Line after line.
My exhaustion converted into evidence against me.
Then Erin said, “There’s another attachment.”
“What?”
“A photograph from Friday night.”
My stomach dropped.
The shattered plate.
Lobster head on the kitchen floor.
“What does he say?”
“That you returned home, became enraged in front of Oliver, and smashed a plate.”
I closed my eyes.
Beatrice had not left me the lobster head only because she hated me.
The dinner had given them exactly what they wanted.
One exhausted mother.
One humiliating plate.
May you like
One predictable explosion.
And a photograph ready for court.
