5. AMAI #2
I turned to face him. “Why’s that?”
“Because I know how you are.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And how’s that?”
“You change your mind.” Raymond opened the folder and pulled out a stack of papers.
“You called me at three in the morning to finalize the contract. Then you called again at six to say you wanted to hand deliver it instead of having me send it. So, I figured it was best to have you review the terms one last time before you walk it over to her.”
I took a sip of coffee. “Smart.”
“I thought so.” Raymond set the contract on my desk and tapped the first page with his pen. “Especially since the changes you emailed over are anything but standard.”
I sat in my chair and pulled the contract toward me.
The terms were laid out in clean, precise language—Raymond’s specialty. No ambiguity. No loopholes. Just clear expectations and ironclad protections.
For both of us.
But mostly for her.
“Walk me through it,” I said.
Raymond leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach.
“Two hundred fifty thousand dollars, paid in four installments. Fifty thousand upon confirmed pregnancy via blood test. Fifty thousand at the start of the second trimester. Fifty thousand at the start of the third trimester. One hundred thousand upon delivery of a live, healthy child.”
I nodded. “That’s what we discussed.”
“It is.” Raymond paused. “But then you added the medical coverage clause.”
“All expenses,” I said. “Prenatal care, hospital bills, medications, complications—everything. She doesn’t pay a dime.”
“That’s generous.”
“It’s necessary. And standard.”
Raymond made a note on his legal pad. “You also added a security provision.”
“Driver and protection if needed,” I said. “She’s carrying my child. I’m not leaving her safety to chance.”
“Understandable.” Raymond flipped to the next page. “Then there’s the confidentiality clause. NDA with financial penalties if she discloses your identity, the nature of the arrangement, or any details about your personal life.”
“Standard,” I said.
“It is.” Raymond looked at me over his glasses. “But the termination clause isn’t.”
I set my coffee down. “Explain.”
“You gave her an out.” Raymond tapped the page with his pen. “If at any point during the pregnancy she decides she can’t continue—for any reason—she can terminate the contract and keep whatever money she’s been paid up to that point. No penalties. No legal recourse. She walks away clean.”
“That’s correct. We talked about that, though.”
“Amai.” Raymond leaned forward. “That’s not how surrogacy contracts work. If she terminates early, you lose the pregnancy and the money you’ve already paid. You get nothing. I thought you were only saying that to get her to commit.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then why?—”
“Because I want her to feel safe,” I said, my voice flat. “I want her to know that if something goes wrong—if she changes her mind, if the pregnancy becomes too much, if she wakes up one day and realizes she can’t do this—she’s not trapped. She can walk away. No consequences.”
Raymond stared at me.
“This is far more generous than standard,” he said slowly.
“I’m not interested in standard.” I met his eyes. “I’m interested in her feeling safe. If she’s scared, if she feels trapped, if she thinks I’m going to come after her legally or financially—she won’t trust me. And if she doesn’t trust me, this doesn’t work.”
Raymond was quiet for a long moment.
Then he said, “You’re protecting her.”
“I’m protecting my investment.”
“Amai—”
“She’s carrying my child, Raymond.” My voice was steady, measured. “That makes her the most important person in this arrangement. If she’s not safe, if she’s not comfortable, if she’s not taken care of—the pregnancy is at risk. And I don’t take risks with things that matter.”
Raymond raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. He just made another note on his legal pad and flipped to the next page.
“The confidentiality clause extends to you as well,” he said. “You can’t disclose her identity or the nature of the arrangement to anyone outside of your attorney and personal physician. If you violate that, she can sue for damages.”
“Good.”
“You’re giving her leverage.”
“I’m giving her protection.” I leaned back in my chair. “If I can’t keep her identity safe, I don’t deserve to have her carry my child.”
Raymond studied me for a long moment.
Then he closed the folder and set it on my desk.
“This contract is airtight,” he said. “But it’s also the most one-sided surrogacy agreement I’ve ever written.
You’re giving her financial security, medical coverage, physical protection, and a legal exit with no penalties.
You’re getting a pregnancy—if it happens—and a child—if it survives. That’s it.”
“That’s enough.”
“Is it?”
I didn’t answer.
Because the truth was, I didn’t know.
I didn’t know if it was enough.
I didn’t know if anything would ever be enough.
But I knew that Truth Renois had walked into my office yesterday and asked me questions that made me tell the truth—about my condition, about my vulnerability, about what I really wanted.
And I’d answered.
Every single one.
So, now I was going to give her a contract that protected her in every way I knew how.
Because that’s what you did when someone was brave enough to carry your legacy.
You made sure they were safe.
Even if it cost you everything.
“When are you delivering it?” Raymond asked.
“This afternoon.”
“You want me to come with you?”
“No.” I picked up the folder and stood. “This one’s mine.”
Raymond stood as well, gathering his legal pad and pen. “Amai?—”
“Don’t,” I said, cutting him off.
“I’m just going to say—be careful. This one’s different.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
He nodded slowly. “I feel like you’re going to get more than you bargained for Amai.”
“I’m not,” I said. “But if I do, is that such a bad thing?”
Raymond left, closing the door quietly behind him.
I walked back to my desk and sat down, staring at the contract in front of me.
I’d built an empire on leverage, on power, on making sure I always had the upper hand.
But this contract gave Truth Renois everything.
And it gave me nothing but hope.
Hope that she’d sign it.
Hope that the pregnancy would take.
Hope that nine months from now, I’d be holding my child.
Hope that maybe—just maybe—I could be something other than what I’d always been.
I picked up my phone and texted Priest.
Clear my schedule for this afternoon. I’ve got something to handle.
His response came back immediately.
Copy.
I set the phone down and looked out the window at the city below.
New Orleans in the morning light—beautiful, broken, and mine.
Just like the woman I was about to give this contract to.
I just hoped she’d say yes.
I let Alexandria know I’d be stepping out and headed to the parking garage.
The contract sat in the passenger seat like a loaded gun.
I was halfway to Magnolia Gardens when my phone rang through the car’s Bluetooth.
Kaisen’s name lit up the dashboard.
I almost didn’t answer.
But ignoring him would only make it worse.
I hit the button on the steering wheel. “What?”
“Man, what the fuck is going on with you?”
I kept my eyes on the road. Poydras Street stretched ahead of me, sunlight cutting through buildings in sharp, golden lines.
“I’m busy, Kaisen.”
“Nah, see, that’s the problem.” His voice was tight, angry. “You been busy ever since you started this surrogacy shit. Acting weird as hell toward me. Like I did something.”
“You did do something.”
“That was years ago, Amai.”
“I don’t have time for this.”
“Why is Priest handling the docks?” Kaisen’s voice rose. “That’s my territory. That’s my responsibility. And why the fuck didn’t you tell me somebody tried to rob your jewelry store? I had to hear that shit from Syx!”
I changed lanes, cutting off a Honda that honked at me.
“Priest handles what I tell him to handle,” I said, my voice flat. “And I don’t report to you. I’m getting dead on Syx’s ass when I get home about telling my fuckin’ business.”
“I’m your number two!”
“No.” I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. “You’re my brother. There’s a difference.”
Silence.
Then, “So that’s how it is now? You just cut me out?”
“I didn’t cut you out. I’m handling my business.”
“Your business?” Kaisen laughed, bitter and sharp. “This surrogacy shit got you acting like you don’t trust nobody. Like you gotta do everything yourself. Like I’m not?—”
“Stop being a bedazzled bitch and chill.”
Kaisen went quiet.
I could hear him breathing on the other end of the line.
“Amai,” he said finally, his voice softer now. Careful. “I know I fucked up. I know that. I’ve apologized a million times about—about your baby jizz and all that shit. I was high as fuck that night we fought. You know that. I wasn’t thinking straight. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt like that.”
My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth would crack.
“I’ve been clean for years,” Kaisen continued. “You know I have. I go to meetings. I stay away from that shit. I’m not that person anymore. But you—you won’t let it go. You keep holding it over my head like I’m still the same fuck-up I was back then.”
I pulled up to a red light.
Stared at the contract on the passenger seat.
Two hundred fifty thousand dollars.
A future I never thought I’d have.
All because of what Kaisen took from me.
“You need to let that shit go, man,” Kaisen said quietly. “I can’t keep apologizing for something I can’t change.”
The light turned green.
I didn’t move.
Cars honked behind me.
“Let it go?” My voice was low. Dangerous. “You want me to let it go?”
“Amai—”
“How the fuck am I supposed to let go of something that changed my life forever?”
The words ripped out of me, raw and jagged.
I wasn’t yelling.
I was something worse. Hurt.