He paused, then said, “Alright. If you’ve made up your mind, come back.”
“I’ll get you a lawyer. From here on, everything goes by your call.”
“But there’s one thing you need to understand.”
“If you come back to run the company, you can’t just come and go like before.”
“From now on, any man you bring in has to be a husband. Marriage, assets, kids? Everything has to be in your name.”
He stopped for a beat.
“That’s the Victorians rule.”
“I know,” I replied without hesitation. “I agree.”
A soft sigh came through the phone.
“Seven days then,” he said. “You need to report to the company in seven days.”
“Alright.”
Shortly after, the car pulled up in front of the law firm.
I didn’t hesitate. I went straight inside, explained my intention, and asked for a divorce agreement to be drafted.
The receptionist lawyer hesitated, her expression turning awkward.
“Ma’am… there’s already a divorce agreement under your name,” she said. “It hasn’t been signed yet.”
My heart skipped.
“Who filed it?” I asked.
“Sir Viggo Roosevelt.”
For a moment, I thought I’d misheard, so I asked to see the document.
After verifying my identity, the lawyer handed it to me.