Page 11

"Next," I continue. "She keeps her job, and her hours. Her own bank accounts, her own name at work. Her own car—which someone services every ninety days without telling her."

"Without telling her," Feldman repeats.

"It would only worry her to know it needs it. Her brakes were worn down in March. She never noticed. I'd like to keep it that way.

"Feldman opens his mouth, then stares at the recorder. Closes his mouth.

"Nobody in my organization speaks to her unless she speaks first. Every house I own is open to her, no locked doors, no schedule. If she wants to leave a dinner, a party, a country, someone drives her and nobody reports where. Her brother can come in to visit her but he needs to ask my permission first. I told him to disappear but I know she cares for the fucker. Her father, never. Her mother, whenever she likes—put that one in using warmer language."

Constantine is sitting on the sofa scrolling the sports pages on his phone. He’s allowed in here … but then puts the phone down and stares at me. I don’t even know why I asked him to come here with me. That was stupid.

"And nobody comments on what she plays in the car."

"Why would a driver comment on⁠—"

"Next clause."

Feldman shuffles his notes together. "Mr. Novak. Forgive me. Normally an agreement like this protects the client from the spouse. This one protects the spouse from everybody, including your own family, and I cannot find a single term in it that benefits you. I'm obliged to ask what you're getting."

"A wife."

"For a year."

"Those are the terms."

Feldman writes consideration: marriage and underlines it twice, and I decide I'll be leaving him something in the will as well.

"There's one problem," he says. "The employment clause is unenforceable. Her hours belong to her employer. Her hospital sits inside the Meridian Health Group—four hospitals, two research institutes—and if Meridian decides to move her, cut her department, put her on nights for a year, this contract can't do anything about it. Her schedule isn't within your control."

The room goes quiet again.

Constantine groans and drags his hand through his face. "No," he says. "Whatever that is. No."

"How much is Meridian?"

Feldman blinks at me. "It's … a private hospital group, Mr. Novak. You'd be looking at hundreds of m⁠—"

"Find out. Use the Aldona trust. My name doesn't appear on any layer of it, and I want it agreed in principle by Friday."

The young associate has his hands still over the keyboard again.

"Type," I tell him.

He types.

Constantine folds a piece of paper he picked up into a small, hard square. "You're buying a hospital."

"I'm buying a healthcare group. The hospital comes with it."

"You met her on Thursday."

"Luckily, nobody bought it on Wednesday."

"Normal men send flowers." He drops the paper on the table. "Rich men send diamonds. You are purchasing the woman's employer so nobody can move her shifts without your signature, and she is never going to know."

"Correct on every point. While you're here, send a case of Soplica to the Valmont house. The good one, from the cellar. Addressed to Julien."

Constantine stares at me.