The Lies I Tell(56)

“My boyfriend was on the men’s golf team. He got me hooked on the game, and I played for a few years after we broke up, but then life got in the way. I started dating someone who wasn’t a golfer, and we spent our weekends doing other things.”

I caught a tiny smirk on Phillip’s face as he set up his next shot. We played the rest of the hole in silence, Phillip coming in one under par and me one over.

We hefted our bags over our shoulders and walked to the next hole. The wind gusted and the trees around us swayed at the tops, white puffy clouds scudding across the sky.

Phillip looked at me and said, “The other night, at Renata’s, you shared that your divorce was contentious,” he said.

I balanced my ball on the tee. We had arrived at the reason we were here today. “There were a lot of assets to divide, and it got heated,” I said. “There were winners and losers and feelings got hurt. It worked out fine in the end, as I’m sure yours will too. You’re in the worst part of it right now. The negotiating. The fighting over every little thing.”

I set up over my ball, swinging hard, and watched it hook left, into the rough.

“You’ll want your pitching wedge for that,” Phillip advised, before returning to the topic at hand. “I’d be interested to hear more about your settlement. You mentioned at Renata’s it was favorable to you.”

“It was,” I said, sliding the driver back into my bag. “My ex-husband wasn’t really the kind of guy who liked hard work. And yet he was asking for 50 percent of everything.” I turned to face Phillip so he could see the righteous anger on my face. “I worked my ass off to build that business. Why should his share be equal to mine? Where was he when I was working seven days a week? Or when I was litigating against one of my clients who refused to pay me? He was sleeping late, going out to lunches, and taking trips to Vegas. Buying cars and clothes and I don’t even know what.” I took a breath. “So yes, I made sure my settlement was favorable to me.”

As I spoke, I saw vindication in Phillip’s expression. I was hitting all the right notes. Saying aloud all the dark thoughts that must have swirled inside his head at night after meetings with his own attorney. I knew what to say because Celia had already told me.

Phillip took his shot and then said, “I’m sorry if I’m being intrusive, but how did you do it? My lawyers are telling me there’s no way around the shared property laws, and I’m already going to have to pay her a substantial amount in alimony.”

“It’s not something I like to talk about, to be honest,” I said. “Let’s just say I had to get creative.”

He looked intrigued. “Anything you can tell me, I’d appreciate it. It’ll stay between us, I promise.”

I let his request hang in the air between us, as if I were considering it, but then I shook my head. “I really want to help you. But what I did was just a shade beyond the legal line, and it would put me and a very good friend of mine in jeopardy. I hope you understand.”

I wanted his imagination to run with that, puzzling out different scenarios, each one more outrageous than the last, so when I finally told him, the simplicity of it would be irresistible.

As we played through several more holes, Phillip talked about his job, about the way the food industry worked, and about his now adult children.

“They have their own lives. I’m grateful that Celia and I don’t have to be fighting over custody.”

“It could be worse,” I agreed.

As is typical of a certain type of man, Phillip did not respect my no. He kept pushing. Nudging. Keeping what he wanted at the center of our conversation.

If it would make you feel better, I have a lot of experience keeping privileged information confidential.

If I can’t figure this out with Celia, I might have to sell the house that’s been in my family for three generations.

I made him wait until the seventh hole before giving in.

I sighed, as if I were making a decision I might regret later. “What I did was simple in execution, but you should understand, there would be serious consequences if you’re caught.” I wanted to make sure I outlined the risks early on, so there wouldn’t be any second thoughts later. “There are better, legal ways to keep the bulk of your money from her, like gifting it to your children.”

He shook his head. “Kids should build their own wealth, not inherit it.”

A foursome approached from behind. “Phillip!” one of them called. “Mind if we play through?”

“Go ahead,” Phillip said. “Sorry we’re so slow today.”

The men—all of them wearing some combination of khaki and pastel—eyed me but offered nothing more than a muted greeting. Phillip and I stood to the side until they’d disappeared down the fairway before resuming our conversation and game.

“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.”