Chapter 3 - The Iron Wall
Skylar spent the next three days in a secure, extended-stay hotel paid for in cash. Half of her face was wrapped in sterile bandages, hiding the angry blisters and raw skin underneath. The physical pain was a constant, throbbing ache, but the mental clarity she felt was sharper than a surgeon’s scalpel.
Sitting across from her at the small hotel dining table was Evelyn Vance.
Evelyn was a seasoned family law attorney who had built her reputation on financially dissecting abusive spouses. Skylar had found her through a women’s advocacy group recommended by Teresa, the hospital nurse.
Evelyn adjusted her glasses and looked over the financial documents Skylar had printed from her portable drive.
“He’s been siphoning your accounts for years,” Evelyn said, her tone clinical but laced with underlying fury. “Look at this. Every time his sister had an 'emergency,' he transferred funds from your joint checking to his private account. Over the last four years, he’s funneled nearly eighty thousand dollars to Suzanne and himself.”
Skylar closed her eyes. “I knew it was bad, but seeing the total... I feel like an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot. You’re a victim of financial and emotional abuse, culminating in a severe physical assault,” Evelyn corrected sharply. “But that stops today. I’ve already submitted the ex parte motion to the judge. Given the police report from the hospital, the photographs of your burns, and the audio recording, the temporary restraining order was signed ten minutes ago.”
Skylar’s eyes snapped open. “It’s done?”
“It’s done,” Evelyn confirmed, sliding a thick folder across the table. “And because the apartment is entirely in your name, purchased before the marriage with solely your funds, the judge included a kick-out order. Derek is legally required to vacate the premises immediately. He gets one supervised visit with police escort to collect his clothing and toothbrush. That’s it.”
Skylar traced the edge of the folder. “What about the bank accounts?”
“I’ve already frozen the joint accounts. I’ve also filed an injunction preventing him from opening any new credit lines in your name. All your direct deposits have been rerouted to a new, secure account at a different bank. He has absolutely zero access to your money as of nine o'clock this morning.”
In the distance, Skylar’s old phone—which she had left powered on but silenced in a drawer—lit up. The screen showed seventy-four missed calls from Derek.
While Skylar had been meticulously building an iron wall around her life, Derek had been slowly starving.
Back at the apartment, Derek was staring in horror at his banking app. A red banner slashed across the screen: ACCOUNT FROZEN. PLEASE CONTACT ADMINISTRATOR.
He switched to his private account—the one he used to fund his expensive lunches and tailor-made suits. The balance was $142.16. He tried to transfer money from the joint savings, but the app just buffered before spitting out an error code.
His phone buzzed. It was Suzanne.
“Derek! My card declined at the salon! The event planner is threatening to sue me for breach of contract! You need to wire me five thousand dollars right now!”
“I can’t,” Derek hissed, pacing the living room. “Skylar locked the accounts. I don’t know how, but she locked them.”
“What do you mean she locked them?! Make her unlock them!”
Before Derek could respond, a heavy, authoritative knock rattled the front door.
May you like
Derek froze. He peeked through the peephole and felt the blood drain from his face. Standing in the hallway were two uniformed police officers. One of them was holding a clipboard.
The iron wall hadn't just been built; it was closing in.
