The Lies I Tell(57)

“How much did she hold for you?”

I adjusted the glove on my hand and said, “I’d rather not disclose that, if it’s okay with you.”

Phillip looked intrigued, and I imagined him filling in the blank with an obscenely large number.

“Surely your husband’s attorneys would have demanded half of whatever you’d ‘purchased’”—air quotes—“from your colleague.”

I pulled my driver from my golf bag and said, “We didn’t use attorneys.”

Phillip looked impressed. “How did you pull that off?”

“I pretended to be collaborative. ‘Let’s make this easy and figure it out without paying lawyers the bulk of our estate.’” I shrugged. “Why do you think I needed to leave town and move my entire business? The only people who benefit from a prolonged divorce battle are the attorneys. Once they get involved, it’s a year—minimum—until you’re settled.”

Phillip was silent so I could set up my next shot, and I took my time, letting him think that over. I swung, feeling the muscles in my back starting to tighten up. “When’s your valuation date?” I asked. The valuation date is the day—usually set by the court—where parties have to turn over a statement of their assets to be split.

“In about eight months,” he said. “Right before our hearing. Because of my stock options, the court set it then, as a way to address any fluctuating value.”

“So you have some wiggle room.”

“I’m supposed to be gathering a list as we speak.”

We walked to the green, our balls six feet apart and fifty feet from the hole. I pulled out my putter and made my shot just as a gust of wind blew from behind us, nudging my ball beyond it.

Phillip was quiet as he tapped his ball to within range.

When he was done, I said, “Your attorneys will want to look everything over, so you can’t put your money into fictional goods that never show up. You’ll have to give her half of any asset—whether it’s cash or a Chihuly chandelier. What you need to do is use your money to pay for a service. Something she can’t demand you sell or give her half of.” I gave him a bright smile. “Like life coaching.”

Phillip groaned.

I laughed. “Let me explain why this might be ideal for you.”

I pulled my phone from the side pocket of my golf bag, entering the web address to Life Design by Melody, and handed it to him.

Phillip pulled a pair of readers from his bag and started scrolling. Then he held up the phone and said, “It’s asking for a password.”

“Sorry,” I said.

I’d spent a week building this website, stealing photographs from interior decorators all over the country. Under the testimonials tab, I’d settled on several celebrity clients whose media presence was consistently saturated. Jennifer Lopez, Sarah Jessica Parker, Neil Patrick Harris, and Lin-Manuel Miranda. It took a few days to create the images I’d need to support my story—one of me laughing with Neil Patrick Harris in a sunny café, another one of me arm in arm with J. Lo on a Brooklyn street, and a third one of me inside Sarah Jessica Parker’s gorgeous brownstone on the Upper East Side.

I took the phone and entered the password. “My clients are pretty well-known and value their privacy. I trust I can count on your discretion?”

“Absolutely,” he said, clicking on Jennifer Lopez’s glowing testimonial. Melody changed my life, inside and out. Life isn’t just about the stuff you accumulate and how you arrange it. It’s about the internal landscape as well. Your mental approach to your relationship with things. With people. She’s a life designer.

He flipped through a couple more before handing my phone back. “Impressive,” he said. “Explain how this will work.”

“It’s very simple. You’ll hire me as your life coach. We’ll do some decorating too, since that’s how I generally work. The goal is to lower your liquid assets. The less you have in the bank, the less you have to split.” I thought of Celia, counting on Phillip’s fat bank account to cover her bills. Pay off her attorney. I’d like to think I was doing her a favor. The tighter I could wedge Phillip in now, the more leverage she would have when the truth came out later. “I charge $30,000 a month for full access—24/7, plus the decorating and space renovation, though we can adjust that depending on how much you want to shelter. The bulk of your fee will go toward coaching, under the guise that this is a big life transition—it’s the end of a thirty-year marriage. I’ll provide documentation of our sessions together, and of course, any time you want to check the account, you can. When your settlement is finalized, I’ll transfer the money back to you, into an offshore account that you’ll set up later.”

Phillip blew out hard, gesturing toward the phone. “People really pay $30,000 for that?”

“Mental health is a big market. I’d like to say I really help them. They certainly think so.”

“I wouldn’t have to do any of that, would I?”

“Not unless you want me to keep your money—which I’d be happy to do,” I said, winking.

Phillip did some mental math. “Over the next eight months, that would only be $240,000. Could you inflate your fee to $50,000? That would get me a lot closer to what I want to set aside.”