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The next morning, I woke up before Gia, even though I’d only slept for two hours. I drank three cups of coffee while writing out a list of things to do to set my plan into motion. At nearly nine, Gia padded into the kitchen wearing the shirt I’d worn yesterday. I fucking loved her waking up in my bed and wearing my clothes.
“Morning,” she yawned and stretched her arms over her head. “What are you up to so early?”
“Early? It’s almost nine o’clock, sleepyhead.” I shifted in my seat and opened my arms. “Come here.”
She plopped her fine ass down on my lap and leaned her head on my shoulder. “I hate not being able to drink coffee.”
“I’ll pick up some decaf on the way home tonight.”
She pouted. “You have to work at the restaurant tonight?”
“Actually…I was hoping I could ask you to cover for me. I have some things I need to do today, and it’s the winter bartender’s first day. He worked for me last season, but I don’t want to leave him alone on his first day back.”
Gia perked up. “Me? You want me to be the manager?”
“Sure.” I shrugged. “Why not?”
“Do I get to growl at people and bark orders like the regular manager?”
My lip twitched. “Absolutely. Give ’em hell.”
She went to get up, but I gently yanked her back down onto my lap. “Wait a minute. Don’t run away so soon. I need to talk to you about something else.”
“Okay.”
I took a minute to think about how I wanted to present things to her. In the end, I decided less was better. Once everything I planned was over, I’d give her all the details. But sharing too much information would definitely cause her anxiety to go into an uproar.
“After you fell asleep last night, I spent a lot of time going over the shit that went down with Elliott yesterday.”
Her cheery face wilted. “Okay…”
“I want to ask you something. But I need you to trust me and not ask any questions. Just answer my question. Can you do that?”
“That’s hard to say. How am I supposed to know if I can answer a question without knowing the question?”
“Let me ask you this…do you trust me?”
“You know I do.”
“Do you trust that anything I do will be in our best interest?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Okay. So…if I could get rid of Elliott from our lives, is that what you’d want? What you’d really want for me, you and the baby?”
“Would you…”
I silenced her with two fingers pressed to her mouth and shook my head. “No questions. Remember? Just answer mine.”
She closed her eyes for a few seconds and then took a deep breath.
“Well, since I’m not allowed to ask any questions, I’m going to preface my answer with a statement then. “You cannot kill Elliott.” She paused. “But other than that, yes, that’s absolutely what I’d want to happen.”
I smiled and kissed her forehead. “Good enough. I gotta jump in the shower.”“Are you sure you want to do this, son?”
Gerald Horvath, grandfather’s old attorney, knew the long history between my father, brother, and me. I’d called him this morning to ask that he draw up an agreement for me. He’d agreed but also wanted to meet with me to discuss things.
“I’m positive.”
He took off his glasses. “We’re talking a lot of money here, Heathcliff.”
“I don’t care about the money.”
Gerald smiled sadly. “I remember the day that I told you what your grandfather had left you. It troubled you more than anything.”
“Money can buy a lot of things, but it’s also the root of a lot of evils.”
He nodded like he understood, slipped his glasses back on, and tossed two documents in front of me. “Well, I did what you asked. Although I had to word it a little differently so it could hold up in court if things ever came to that. But I think these two contracts give you the same effect that you’re looking for.”
Gerald gave me a little time to read through both documents, and then we talked about a few things he’d added himself that I hadn’t thought about—a punitive damages clause, confidentiality clause, and some other legal mumbo jumbo that made sense when he explained them. When we were done, he sat back in his big leather chair and steepled his hands.
“You think he’s going to take your offer?”
“He’s pretty self-destructive lately. I’m not sure he’ll be able to put what’s best for him above his emotional immaturity.”
“So how do you intend to convince him?”
I stood. “I don’t. I need buy-in from the man on my next stop to help me do that.”“Jesus.” I let myself into Elliott’s apartment at seven that evening using the key I’d picked up from Lauren that morning. The place looked like a frat house at dawn after initiation night. Bottles of alcohol were strewn all over the floor, two naked women were passed out on the couches, takeout boxes littered the countertops, and shit was spilled everywhere. The only thing differentiating this scene from a college banger was that the tightly rolled up bills sitting on a mirror on the living room table were hundreds and not ones, and the view outside the window was of the Manhattan skyline instead of drunken teens passed out on a muddy lawn.
