Page 56 of Iron Blade

I felt a strange sense of foreboding, staring at the black card he left on my desk.

I thought that I would feel… scared. That’s it. I thought I’d feel scared to pick up the plastic card with his name embossed on the front. I don’t know what I was thinking… maybe it would feel as heavy as iron handcuffs?

Eoghan Cillian Green.

A fitting, ancient sounding name for such an old soul.

I didn’t leave his card there. That would be unkind. And I was very sure he was trying to be kind to me.

What if someone broke in? What if one of the dozens of people who had a key to this office walked in and swiped it? I’d never forgive myself.

I picked it up with two hands, bringing it close to my chest. I would not spend a dime of his money. Of course, I wouldn’t. Of course.

But it was nice to have someone who cared. The last man to care about me, or give anything for me, was my father. To have someone try to show me kindness felt like a breath of air, when I didn’t even know I was drowning.

The card was still burning a hole in my pocket the next day, when I found a check on my desk for a million dollars, and a fifteen-page prenuptial agreement, already signed by Eoghan on my desk. I thought I was dreaming.

I read it. Every word. Eoghan, the man whose elegant, slanted signature graced the last page of the contract, should have been my first phone call. But he wasn’t.

Instead, I called Cosima.

“Hmm?” she said, when she answered the phone. She wasn’t the kind of person to do greetings.

“Can you or a lawyer … look at something for me?”

“Like what?”

“A contract.” A prenup was a contract, right? That’s all it was. I could send it with the names blacked out, and she could tell me what it meant. Or her lawyer and godfather could. Right? “I just want to make sure I’m not being played.”

I sent the contract via email, then finished up some work finalizing the sale of the recent Jerry Vasali paintings. I looked at the letter of authenticity, and bill of sale, finalizing it with two distinctive signatures.

Kira Kekoa signed with my left hand, Jerry with my right. Both were me, but neither was a complete person.

I blew on the paper to dry the ink, before getting up and putting on my black peacoat to meet the Mafia heiress for brunch.

After seeing Andrius the other day, in plain view, I realized how much my life had changed. I had gone from a poor artist’s daughter, working as a waitress, picking up shifts where I could, to suddenly becoming a secret agent, and funneling enough money to secret accounts to fund operations across three continents.

My clothes were better, my hair was straighter, but still… something felt empty and hollow in my chest.

I sat at a table with one of the most powerful women in the city, casually having brunch. We acted like we were equals, even though I knew that we weren’t. Despite her criminal ties, and the blood money that funded her, she was the one at the table being honest. Not me.

“Honey, can I be blunt?” She pursed her rose-pink lips, leaning forward on her elegant, slender arms. The white cloth, and her pale skin looked like something out of a girly magazine. “Are you concerned for the richer or poorer party in this contract?”

“Poorer,” I scoffed.

As if she even had to ask.

Despite being a well-paid Gallerist - certainly “comfortable” by most standards - I had nothing compared to Durante or Green money.

“This contract is insane for the richer party. It entitles you to half of everything, in perpetuity, free and clear, for the rest of your life, even in the case of infidelity, or other fault. Not only that-” She flipped the page, her long finger pointing at a particular subsection. “This also says that everything you had before, and anything you accrue during the marriage remains yours. This person wouldn’t ever have possession of your money from before or during the marriage.”

The million dollars he had given me in a check was mine. Free and clear. Just like he said.

I could hear his voice in my head again: I only speak the truth, Miss Kekoa. Whether or not you believe it is up to you.

She shook her head; wisps of her strawberry blond hair came out of her elegant French twist.

“This whole thing is so unfair to the other party, that I have a hard time believing anyone would draft this.” She ran her thumb and forefinger over her eyebrows as if she was trying to relax away a headache. “I don’t even know if it’s enforceable because it’s so preposterous. Any man who signs this, especially a man with assets, would have to be insane.”

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