It’s addressed to me.
No one has this address except a few of the Rays and my lawyer. And no Ray would send me something by mail when they could get it to me in person. It’s certainly nothing to do with Out of the Net. My list of suspects narrows down to one.
“Well…fuck.”
I slam the door shut and throwing the bolt. Then I carry the box like a bomb into the kitchen and set it down, glaring at it.
“What’s your game now, huh?” I say at the box.
Snatching a knife from the block, I stab into the flaps of the box, aggressively cutting through the tape. Whatever waits for me in here, it’s not going to be good. Dropping the knife down with a clatter, I tear the flaps and fold them back.
The box is full of confetti—no, shredded paper. He dumped the contents of a paper shredder into a box and mailed it to me?
And then it hits me.
“Oh my god.” I pick up a handful, inspecting it more closely. Yep, these are printed pages. I can just make out some of the words. He shredded the divorce papers and mailed them to me unsigned. Tears sting my eyes as I open my fingers, letting the confetti fall back into the box.
“Goddamn it,” I say, my voice catching.
I shift the confetti a bit and see a small envelope. Bracing myself for the worst, I pull it out and flip it over. He didn’t bother sealing it. I take out the contents, unfolding the papers. My heart sinks out of my chest. It’s printed screenshots of the bullshit tabloid articles featuring Jake and me. He scrawled a message on the top page. I recognize his sloping cursive:
Whores don’t get to make demands
“Lovely.”
My fingers shake as I delicately fold up the papers, slipping them back inside the envelope. I set the envelope down on top of the shredded divorce documents and pick up the box, taking it to my room. I leave it on my dresser as I go into the bathroom and snatch my phone. Flicking through my short list of contacts, I press Charlie’s name and dial.
“Hey, honey, how you doing today?” comes his cheery tone.
“He didn’t sign, Charlie,” I say in greeting.
“I—well, I haven’t heard back from his counsel yet, but they do have till end of day—”
“He didn’t sign,” I say again. “I know he didn’t sign, because I have the contract right here and it’s unsigned.”
“You have it? How—”
“He shredded it unsigned, and mailed it to me,” I explain. “Charlie, how did he get my address? You are the only person up there who has it.”
“Well, I would never—”
“I’m not saying you gave it to him,” I add quickly. “I’m asking you, as someone who deals in family law cases, how would he get ahold of my address? I’m in a different state. He doesn’t have my phone number; I’m not returning his emails. How would my ex-husband know where to send me mail?”
Charlie sighs into the phone. “My best guess?”
“Yes, please.”
“He’s got someone following you.”
My heart stops.
“We knew with all your tabloid drama this might happen,” Charlie goes on. “He must be paying someone to track you down.”
“What should I do? What can I do?”
“Look for any signs that you’re being followed and document them if you can,” he explains. “Curious cars on the street, people going through your trash, someone taking pictures without your consent. Document every time he makes contact, and throw nothin’ out, do you hear? Keep that box of shredded papers. Keep all screenshots, all emails.”
“Okay.” Tears sting my eyes again. I hate the idea of this box poisoning my air with its negative energy.
“Honey, as your attorney, I have to ask—do you believe you’re in danger? Should we start the TRO process?”
“No,” I say quickly. “No, I don’t think we’re there yet. Let me…” I let out a deep breath, trying to get my brain to unscramble.
“Are we moving forward with the divorce? Should I request the court hearing—”
“Wait. Let me just make another call, and I’ll get back to you, okay? I’m not ready to give up on this yet. Let me try one more thing.”
“Okay, honey.”
“I’ll call you back, Charlie.”
“I’ll be here ‘til around seven, and then I’ve got a dinner, but you leave me a voicemail and I’ll get back to you.”
“Thanks, Charlie.”