He told me it was something to do with the mortgage. I signed it on the roof of a car outside a bank, with a baby in the back, in about four seconds.
I have no memory of doing it whatsoever. None. I have seen my own signature on it and it means nothing to me.
Eleven years and four months of being a legal co-owner of a company that I was told, in my own kitchen, repeatedly, I had nothing whatsoever to do with.
Eleven years of writing the books of a business I part-owned, and being thanked for helping.
And the valuation he used in that divorce was built on a declaration that I had no involvement in that business.
Which I also signed.
Four pages, in an office, with a pen that was handed to me across a table.
I did not read page two. I could not tell you today what is on page three — and I have the copy, and I have still not read it.
