My husband—unaware that I earned $4.2 million a year—shouted at me: “You sick psycho! I’ve already filed for divorce. Be out of my house by tomorrow.”

Silence.

“Exactly what the deed says.”

“And the down payment?”

“You transferred money once,” he said. “That was your savings.”

I closed my eyes briefly.

“That wasn’t savings,” I said. “That was my compensation.”

He laughed nervously. “Compensation for what? You’re a consultant.”

“I’m a senior executive partner at a private equity firm,” I replied. “Last year my compensation was $4.2 million.”

Silence swallowed the line.

“That’s not funny,” he said weakly.

“It isn’t a joke.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered.

“Because I wanted a marriage,” I said. “Not a dependent.”

His breathing became erratic.

“Okay. We can fix this,” he rushed. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was stressed—”

“No,” I interrupted. “You meant it.”

Naomi slid another document toward me.

“Trent,” I continued, “you didn’t just insult me. You attempted illegal eviction. That helps my case.”