“I’d like to know how you did it,” he said, wiping one of his clubs with a soft green towel.
“I had a close business associate in New Jersey,” I told him. “She was a furniture designer, and I bought a lot of pieces from her over the years. What I did was simple, commissioning several things from her over the course of eight months. Paid her up front, held on to the invoices. The money sat in her account, and I was able to give my ex-husband accurate financial statements, and our financial negotiations were based on those amounts.”
“How much did she hold for you?”
I adjusted the glove on my hand and said, “I’d rather not disclose that, if it’s okay with you.”
Phillip looked intrigued, and I imagined him filling in the blank with an obscenely large number.
“Surely your husband’s attorneys would have demanded half of whatever you’d ‘purchased’”—air quotes—“from your colleague.”
I pulled my driver from my golf bag and said, “We didn’t use attorneys.”
Phillip looked impressed. “How did you pull that off?”
“I pretended to be collaborative. ‘Let’s make this easy and figure it out without paying lawyers the bulk of our estate.’” I shrugged. “Why do you think I needed to leave town and move my entire business? The only people who benefit from a prolonged divorce battle are the attorneys. Once they get involved, it’s a year—minimum—until you’re settled.”
Phillip was silent so I could set up my next shot, and I took my time, letting him think that over. I swung, feeling the muscles in my back starting to tighten up. “When’s your valuation date?” I asked. The valuation date is the day—usually set by the court—where parties have to turn over a statement of their assets to be split.
“In about eight months,” he said. “Right before our hearing. Because of my stock options, the court set it then, as a way to address any fluctuating value.”
“So you have some wiggle room.”
“I’m supposed to be gathering a list as we speak.”
We walked to the green, our balls six feet apart and fifty feet from the hole. I pulled out my putter and made my shot just as a gust of wind blew from behind us, nudging my ball beyond it.
Phillip was quiet as he tapped his ball to within range.
When he was done, I said, “Your attorneys will want to look everything over, so you can’t put your money into fictional goods that never show up. You’ll have to give her half of any asset—whether it’s cash or a Chihuly chandelier. What you need to do is use your money to pay for a service. Something she can’t demand you sell or give her half of.” I gave him a bright smile. “Like life coaching.”
Phillip groaned.
I laughed. “Let me explain why this might be ideal for you.”
I pulled my phone from the side pocket of my golf bag, entering the web address to Life Design by Melody, and handed it to him.
Phillip pulled a pair of readers from his bag and started scrolling. Then he held up the phone and said, “It’s asking for a password.”
“Sorry,” I said.
I’d spent a week building this website, stealing photographs from interior decorators all over the country. Under the testimonials tab, I’d settled on several celebrity clients whose media presence was consistently saturated. Jennifer Lopez, Sarah Jessica Parker, Neil Patrick Harris, and Lin-Manuel Miranda. It took a few days to create the images I’d need to support my story—one of me laughing with Neil Patrick Harris in a sunny café, another one of me arm in arm with J. Lo on a Brooklyn street, and a third one of me inside Sarah Jessica Parker’s gorgeous brownstone on the Upper East Side.