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“Good, I’m happy to hear that. It’s important to have someone looking out for your interests.”
Our drinks arrive. Giving the waiter time to retreat again, Kane flicks a packet of Splenda a couple of times, tears it open, and empties it into his coffee.
“You said you had something to tell me, something that would be helpful,” I say, trying not to sound as desperate as I feel.
“Yes, I do. It’s actually a proposal, which ideally will make the entire situation much better for you.”
I’m confused. “A proposal fromyou?”
He takes a sip of coffee and sets the cup back in the porcelain saucer with a clink. “Not from me. From Jane Whaley.”
As soon as he sees me startle in my seat, he raises one hand. “Just so you know, neither I nor anyone in my firm represents Mrs. Whaley. But since she’s aware that I worked with her husband on the trust assignment, she approached me to assist in this matter.”
“Oh, so now you’re acting as her intermediary?” I say, shaking my head.
“Actually,” he says, then clears his throat. “She’d like to present the proposal to you herself. She knows you two got off on the wrong foot, and she wants to correct that by meeting with you.”
“Meeting inperson?” The last thing I want to do is encounter her again.
He nods. “She’s actually waiting in the reading room here. If you’re willing, I’ll ask her to join us at the table.”
I feel totally conned, and a rage begins to build in me, just like the one I saw come to a boil in Mark Whaley last night. I wonder how Kane would react if I stood up in the middle of his snobby club and shouted,Fuck you then. Fuck you to hell.
But I have to suck it up and do as he asks—because by talking to Jane Whaley, I might be able to extract some of the facts I need. I breathe in slowly, trying to calm myself.
“All right,” I say, finally, meeting his gaze.
He flicks his eyes around the room, then he discreetly slides a phone from the pocket of his pants and begins typing, never lifting the device above the table. The club probably forbids the use of mobile phones.
He nods to let me know she’s received the text, and we sit in silence. Holding my breath, I prepare for the experience.Let her do all the talking, I tell myself.Betray no emotion. Observe her carefully.
Within seconds Jane appears in the doorway and strides confidently toward us. She’s wearing high heels, black crepe pants, and a chic black-and-white blazer with three big bows where the buttons should be. A small lock of her raven-colored hair has fallen over her eye again, which means the look must definitely be intentional. How does a stylist convince a woman to go that route?You won’t be able to see as well, but you’ll be making a real statement.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet,” she says once she reaches the table and slides into the chair to my right. Though she might be trying, she hasn’t managed to hide the snootiness from either her tone or the expression on her face.
Kane extends a hand for the pad, obviously to order her a drink, but she dismisses him with a brisk wave and turns her attention back to me. Caroline Whaley had told me that C.J. was besotted with Jane in part because of her self-possession, but in the intervening years, it’s clearly morphed into a brittle arrogance.
“As you can imagine, Ms. Moore,” she says, widening her large brown eyes, “this has been an extremely trying time for me—losing my husband, seeing my children lose their father—and then this difficult matter with the trust. But I also appreciate it’s been a confusing time for you, too.”
She pauses, as if expecting me to thank her, but I say nothing.
“And I’m sure you’re concerned,” she adds, “that things will become even more difficult.”
That sounds like a threat.
I force myself to look her right in the eye. “What is it you wanted to discuss, specifically?”
The shadow of a smile crosses her face. Maybe I’ve impressed her by cutting to the chase.
“All right. As I believe you’ve heard, I’ve been working with a team of highly skilled attorneys to contest the assignment of the trust. But I’d be willing to cease those efforts if you agree to split the trust in half with me. And if you do so, I’ll also write you a check now for twenty-five thousand dollars—on top of your half—as a show of good faith.”
I stare at her, too stunned to speak. Does she really think I’ll give back half the money to end the harassment and whatever legal threat she presents? Who’s the extortionist now?
My lack of response seems to fluster both her and Kane. Janestraightens her back, looking tense, and Kane rubs his fingers back and forth on the wooden table, as if he’s trying to remove a mark.
I gather a breath, preparing to tell her just what I think of her pathetic proposition, but then I catch myself. If I create a scene, I’ll have no chance of getting what I need from Kane today.
“Hmm, that’s very interesting,” I say, staring into the cappuccino I have yet to touch. From the corner of my eye I see her hands uncurl ever so slightly. She must be buying the idea that I’m open to her little plan.
