24 The Deal
The Deal
“Please wait here,” the housemaid said, her expression neutral, but her eyes flicking over me with quiet scrutiny. I stood on the porch, unwilling to step inside until invited. She hesitated for a moment, then turned and disappeared down the hall, leaving the front door open.
A few muffled words carried back to me. It was probably Claire’s voice.
Seconds later, the housemaid returned, her posture a little stiffer than before. “Mrs. Donovan will see you now,” she said, stepping aside to let me in. “Please follow me.” Her face crinkled a little as if she doubted her decision about me.
Following, I entered the foyer, where marble floors gleamed under a massive, sophisticated chandelier.
But the first thing I noticed was the faint scent of lavender.
Winston had told me he kept fresh lavender everywhere, to repel scorpions.
The scent reminded me of him, stirring an ache inside my chest.
The maid invited me to head toward the backyard patio and showed me the way, walking quickly and silently across the spacious living room.
Floor-to-ceiling windows let filtered sunshine in and showed a view of the hills.
Ornate mirrors, impressionist paintings, and rich dark-wood accents adorned the room.
Did Winston enjoy this house? Or was it more to Claire’s liking? I’d always wanted a house like this. Yet this one belonged to Claire, and mine wasn’t on the horizon yet.
Outside, the back patio had been turned into an elegant, private oasis with a sparkling infinity pool, strategically placed rocks, lemongrass shrubs and cacti landscaping, and tall palm trees.
Flanking the door, two large ceramic pots held flowering lavender in full bloom.
This yard didn’t have a fence; the hilly landscape covered in shrubs and clumps of tall desert grasses ensured its privacy.
The housemaid opened the sliding door to the patio and stepped to the side. “Please take a seat.” She pointed toward a table under an open sand-colored umbrella. “Someone will be there shortly with refreshments.”
“And Mrs. Donovan?” I asked impatiently.
“She’ll be right with you.”
The door slid closed behind me, and I was left by myself. I leaned over a flowerpot and inhaled the powerful scent of lavender, filling my lungs with it and trying not to think of Winston, or of that day on the Colorado River.
Too restless to sit down, I paced the granite patio back and forth.
By the pool, an open book was abandoned on a large cushy lounge chair, as if someone had stopped reading and left it there, planning to return soon.
On the small wrought iron table by the lounge chair, a tall glass sat about two-thirds full with a yellow bubbly liquid and fresh mint leaves, and was covered in sweat.
Probably lemonade. Several ice cubes floated in the glass, resisting the thawing power of the midafternoon sun.
A small bottle of Visine eye drops and a pair of dark-rimmed reading glasses had been left on the same table.
Claire had just been there. Reading, drinking mint lemonade, without a care in this unfair world.
Again, I found myself wondering how some people landed hands full of aces and others struggled, chased by hungry ghosts their entire lives, sentenced to never find peace.
Or the love of a family. Was it the luck of the draw?
Fate, as some would call it? Or something Claire had achieved for herself, fought for tooth and nail, the way I was fighting in turn?
The sliding door opened, and I turned to see who was coming.
It was Claire.
She was dressed in an elegant black skirt cinched with a black belt and a curve-hugging red top.
She was thin, a size 4 at best, and almost as tall as I was.
Her hair, blond and long and wavy like mine, was tied in a loose ponytail, several strands flanking her face in apparent disarray, yet carefully styled.
A solitary blue diamond adorned her finger, this being the only jewelry she wore.
Had Winston bought her that? A pang of jealousy sliced through my heart.
She studied me with curiosity. “Ms. Taylor?”
I nodded and offered my hand. “Olivia.”
“Olivia,” she repeated, the curiosity in her eyes colored with a touch of suspicion. She sat at the table and crossed her legs. “I’m told you have something of mine. What would that be?”
I pulled out a chair and sat, crossing my legs in an instinctive mirroring of her actions. Then I put the white file on the table next to my purse. “I have your husband, Mrs. Donovan.”
“Do you, now?” A perfectly arched eyebrow sprang up, creasing her forehead. Her eyes drilled into mine, dark and dangerous. If I hadn’t been seated, I would’ve taken a careful step back, as if I’d seen a coiled snake ready to pounce.
Without a word, I pushed the white folder toward her.
Her fingers trembled slightly when she opened the file.
She wasn’t expecting what she saw. Her thin body reeled at the sight of the first image.
She turned pale and clenched her jaw, but didn’t say a word.
In the perfect silence of the patio, palm tree fronds rustling in the gentle breeze offered the only sound.
She took her time, studying each picture carefully and holding her own quite well. She didn’t glare at me, didn’t tear up, didn’t spew invectives . . . just looked at those photos one at a time until the last—the one showing Winston slipping the ring on my finger.
“Where was this taken?” she asked, tapping the photo with the tip of a perfectly manicured finger.
“At Lago. Today.”
Her gaze shifted from the picture to my ring finger, then to me.
“What do you want, Ms. Taylor?”
I took a small thumb drive out of my purse. “There’s a standard nondisclosure agreement on this drive, and a cryptocurrency account.” I looked her straight in the eye, feeling like I couldn’t breathe anymore. “For the right amount of money, I will walk away.”
“Really,” she said, and it wasn’t a question. She’d turned ashen.
“Yes.” I paused for a beat, but she didn’t ask anything else.
She sat there, seemingly stunned, looking at me without unclenching her jaw.
“It’s up to you what you do with this. You can have a very lucrative divorce using these pictures, and bypass the prenup,” I added, taking a shot in the dark.
Winston had been married before. Chances were, he’d had one drawn up before marrying Claire.
By the way her pupils dilated, I’d hit a bull’s-eye. “Or you can ransom your husband from me and live happily ever after. Either way, I disappear.”
She closed the file and clasped her hands tightly, her knuckles turning white. “And how did you know he wasn’t going to be here now?”
“He’s waiting for me at his suite at the Cosmopolitan,” I replied, unable to stop myself from twisting the knife.
“Of course he is.” Biting her lower lip, she glanced at the closed file, then back at me. Her pupils were dilated, menacing. “How about me? How did you know I was going to be home?”
I didn’t find it necessary to bring up the subject of my former private investigator, Brad Pendergraft. “I have my sources. I know what I’m doing, Mrs. Donovan.”
She nodded and swallowed hard, looking at the fizzy drink that she’d left on the lounge-side table.
“I’ll get it for you.” I stood and walked over there, and grabbed the glass.
“Could you do me a favor?” she asked, her voice unexpectedly strong. “Bring the eye drops, too. These contact lenses are so hard on my eyes.”
I brought both objects over and placed them on the table.
“Would you mind?” she asked, tilting her head back and keeping her eyelids open with her fingers. “I never get it right.”
Frowning a little at the unusual request, I took the cap off the bottle of Visine and put a couple of drops in each of her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, blinking rapidly a few times. Then she took a sip of lemonade and breathed deeply.
The sliding door opened. It was the maid bringing a tray of refreshments. Claire waved her off with an impetuous gesture. The door closed. Claire looked straight at me and clasped her hands together. “How much?”
“I was tempted to go for one percent of the value you’ll keep,” I said coldly, “but let’s make it an even million.” I held my breath; I’d never asked for so much money before.
“In crypto?”
“Yes. And the signed NDA. Otherwise, we have no deal.”
She took another sip and looked at me for a long, loaded moment. I didn’t flinch, although the strength of my resolve was fading with every moment. I felt as if I were withering under her stare.
Finally, her eyes shifted toward my ring. “Why not everything? With that”—she pointed at my ring—“you could have it all. Whatever’s left after the divorce settlement. Though, not this house. I like this house and I’m keeping it.”
I nodded politely. In her mind, she was already dividing assets. Counting her newly found fortune. “I love my freedom more. One million is enough for me.”
“I don’t think you’re worth that much. I’ll give you half.”
A flicker of a smile danced on my lips. I placed my hand over the white file and pulled it closer to me.
“It’s one million, or it’s all of whatever’s left after the divorce.
And no pictures to fight that prenup in court.
As for this conversation?” I gestured at her and then at myself.
“It never happened. Your word against mine. I’ll say I just came here to say I’m sorry for all the hurt I caused you, and to make sure you’re okay if Winston and I get married after the divorce. ”
Some of the points I was making were quite flimsy, like the one about the pictures, but she didn’t seem to care.
She nodded a few times, as if processing her options. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Taylor. What terms do you offer?”
“Whatever you’d like. I can break off the engagement and disappear in the next couple of days.”
A glint of anger lit up her pupils. “No. You’ll do it today.”
“Okay, as soon as I can confirm the money is there and I have the signed nondisclosure.”
A crooked smirk contorted her beautiful face. “And you’ll tell him it’s because he’s too old for you. I want him to feel what I’m feeling right now. The pain of not being good enough anymore, of being thrown to the curb like a piece of old, ratty furniture.”
It was my turn to reel. Thinking of how hurt Winston would be no matter how I broke it off, my eyes widened for a split moment, but she caught it.
She’d been waiting for it, anticipating the reaction before I’d even known it was coming.
Satisfied with what she’d seen, she smiled and folded her hands neatly in her lap.
Her eyes glimmered with something dark that I couldn’t read, but it terrified me.
Then she started chuckling. “You fell for him, didn’t you? You silly little Judas!” She laughed heartily.
My eyes stung with tears. I’d been called worse, but this time, it hurt. I’d never been shaken by my betrayals until now.
Until Winston.
Before him, I had hunted men just like men always hunted women. Mercilessly, selfishly, doing and saying anything that could get me what I wanted. Without any wrinkle on my conscience or shred of regret.
Breathing slowly and deeply, I waited for her to finish her grief-riddled cackling, keeping a straight face.
“No,” I managed to reply calmly. “I was about to tell you that it will cost you fifty percent more. I’m not into torturing people.”
“You’re not?” She scoffed angrily, then took a big swig of the remaining lemonade before slamming the glass down on the table. Several drops landed on the glass surface, and the ice cubes rattled. “Then what the hell are you doing now?”
I stared at her. She didn’t scare me; I’d been here before, and I knew she was, in fact, afraid of me. Nothing scared the wives more than the ring on my finger.
“Giving you power.” I tilted my head ever so slightly. “Well, selling it to you, really. What you do with it is entirely your business.”
Scoffing bitterly, she grabbed the thumb drive from the table and took a few steps toward the house, then stopped and looked at me, a hint of disbelief still lingering on her face.
“What’s keeping me from calling the cops now?” Her left eyebrow was raised again.
It always ended with meaningless questions about police, but the threat never failed to freeze the blood in my veins.
“Several things, actually. Shame is one of them. Fear of exposure in the media. The power that you can almost taste now, the power you never thought you could possibly have. Finally, you can always say no, and I’m out of here.
Besides, this is not illegal; it’s not extortion.
I’m selling something I possess, and you’re free to not buy. ”
I was lying.
It was extortion, and I had done it repeatedly, constituting what any district attorney would call “a pattern of repeated criminal behavior across state lines.” That meant federal charges. No leniency.
But Claire didn’t know that. None of the wives ever did, or cared to find out, when they could almost taste the money. The freedom. The power.
She pressed her lips together for a moment.
Her thumb played with the sliding lid of the thumb drive, pushing it up and down.
It clicked quietly. “Aren’t you afraid of pissing off someone as rich and powerful as Winston?
” She clicked the heel of her sandal against the granite pavers, seeming impatient and yet undecided at the same time.
“If he learns he was transacted like a piece of property, ransomed back to me like a kidnapped child, there’s no telling what he’ll do. ”
“That’s what the NDA is for,” I said calmly. “If he comes after me, I come after you. You’ll notice the agreement covers everything that happens between us today and beyond, without listing specifics. And it works both ways. I won’t tell, either.”
She shook her head in disbelief and disappeared inside the house, taking the thumb drive with her.
And I waited, staring at the white folder she’d left behind and struggling to shake off a chilling thought.
This had been much too easy.