“I can’t do that, Molly,” I said, slamming my palm down on the wooden table so hard it rattled the coffee mugs. “Think about it. Brent is sociopathically smart. He filed a formal property dispute and a petition for marital asset division this morning. If a squad car rolls up to the gate, the private security guard will show them the court filings. If they get inside, Brent will show them his marriage license and claim he’s doing ‘home renovations.’ The police will declare it a messy domestic civil dispute and tell us to let a judge sort it out on Monday morning.”
I looked desperately at the webcam. “Jen, by Monday morning, he will have gutted that vault, destroyed the evidence, and vanished into thin air.”
“She is absolutely right,” Jennifer agreed, adjusting her glasses, the reflection of the monitors glowing in the lenses. “To get the Boulder police to breach that door tonight, with force, we have to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is committing a felony against an unrelated third party. We need to instantly, legally strip him of any perceived marital rights to that property. We have to change the entire game board while he thinks he’s winning.”
“How do we do that?” I asked, my mind racing through property laws and trusts, finding nothing but dead ends. “I can’t exactly list the house on Zillow and close a sale at midnight on a Friday during a thunderstorm.”
Jennifer leaned closer to the camera, a slow, predatory smile forming on her face. It was the smile she wore right before she obliterated opposing counsel in a courtroom.
“Actually, Tessa. You can.”
