Confession: I skipped out on the last hour of class one day. I did it because of an
event known as “manhattanhenge.” Two days every year, the sun sets all along the Manhattan grid creating stunning sunsets. The first event was in May. I methodically plotted the timing
of my ‘escape.’ I plotted the time it would take to me traverse cross-town from Fordham to near the Chrysler Building at Grand Central on the east side. I knew that sunset was expected to be
at 8:16pm. I read that it was best to be situated 30 minutes before sunset. I confided in my two seatmates but they were the only people I told. The next day, I was stunned when several folks (whom I didn’t really know very well at all) came up to me asking, “how was manhattanhenge?” I accused my seatmates of giving me up. They promised they didn’t spill the secret. Then it hit me. I had done what I tell my family law clients never to do.
I had posted on Instagram. I had outted myself.
I had a client, a woman, who was convinced her husband was
having an affair. We kept coming up empty as we tried to find solid evidence of his misdeeds. There was nothing in his email. There was nothing on his cell phone. No calls; no texts. Nothing was suspicious on Facebook. No skype chats. No Wechat. Nothing we could find in Snapchat. Surveillance came up empty. This guy was really, really careful or my client was wrong.
event known as “manhattanhenge.” Two days every year, the sun sets all along the Manhattan grid creating stunning sunsets. The first event was in May. I methodically plotted the timing
of my ‘escape.’ I plotted the time it would take to me traverse cross-town from Fordham to near the Chrysler Building at Grand Central on the east side. I knew that sunset was expected to be
at 8:16pm. I read that it was best to be situated 30 minutes before sunset. I confided in my two seatmates but they were the only people I told. The next day, I was stunned when several folks (whom I didn’t really know very well at all) came up to me asking, “how was manhattanhenge?” I accused my seatmates of giving me up. They promised they didn’t spill the secret. Then it hit me. I had done what I tell my family law clients never to do.
I had posted on Instagram. I had outted myself.
I had a client, a woman, who was convinced her husband was
having an affair. We kept coming up empty as we tried to find solid evidence of his misdeeds. There was nothing in his email. There was nothing on his cell phone. No calls; no texts. Nothing was suspicious on Facebook. No skype chats. No Wechat. Nothing we could find in Snapchat. Surveillance came up empty. This guy was really, really careful or my client was wrong.
Oz’s curtain was pulled back by Instagram! A follower of (name changed) “Susan” saw her Instagram post that included a video accompanied by a caption “island paradise.” The video showed a balcony view with an unmistakable, distinctive, ball cap owned by my client’s husband propped on a chair. Coincidentally (not), the husband had told my client he was attending a work conference in Miami. <ahem>
The layers of the onion came off one-by-one after that, including the husband’s burner phone.
I always tell my clients: no Instagrams! No FaceBook posts! A Snap never really vanishes. Here I was, burned by not taking my own advice. So let this be a lesson to you folks out there.
The layers of the onion came off one-by-one after that, including the husband’s burner phone.
I always tell my clients: no Instagrams! No FaceBook posts! A Snap never really vanishes. Here I was, burned by not taking my own advice. So let this be a lesson to you folks out there.