Page 27 of Her Dark Lies
Prenup, or Else
The Compton library is done up in old-world style. The room is expansive, two stories of bookshelves, floor to rafters, and the rest dark, well-oiled oak wainscoting. The scent of lemon and ancient paper permeates the air. This is my room; I realize it immediately. I feel utterly at home. Yes, I love painting, but reading is a close second. There are so many books that my mouth goes dry with anticipation.
Not only collectors of important works of art, Jack’s family possess some rare and exciting texts in their many homes. This is the library of an investor, yes, but also of a reader—paperbacks with bright covers peek out from the staid gold and gilt, a human touch in the midst of the opulence.
Despite how much is crammed in, the room doesn’t feel crowded, rather elegantly stuffed. There are some well-lit oils here and there—warships a-sail, hunting scenes—more traditional as befit the library’s purpose. They don’t excite me as much as the modern art, but they are impressive pieces.
There is a stone fireplace that a five-year-old could stand in comfortably, the wood stacked and ready for the match. To my right is the second-story balcony accessed by a massive curved staircase with wrought-iron spindles. The dark oak handrail is wide enough children could slide down it. Jack and his brothers slid down it.
Ourchildren will slide down it. There will be shouts and cries and games in this room.
It hits me—this is happening. It is really happening. I’m going to pledge my life to Jack, to be his wife, the mother of his children. I do a giddy spin, taking in the rest of the room.
Toward the nave is a stunning stained-glass window, the detail remarkable. It depicts two men, one wearing a horned devil’s mask, one holding paper and pen. Faust. A man caught in the act of selling his soul to the devil for all eternity.
A shiver passes through me. What a strange scene to have in your library. Then again, the idea of all the knowledge in the world bringing ultimate power was a cornerstone of the Compton computer software system.Putting power in the hands of the people, for the greater good, that is Brice Compton’s mantra. It’s fitting; the Comptons do so much for the greater good.
Under the stained-glass window is a long, wide table littered with vases of peonies, stacks of books, and a tower of papers. Behind it, two blue-suited lawyers sit side by side, one man, one woman, both in their fifties. The man is salty haired and round as a blueberry, the woman has a curly blond shag, light eyes, and a cadaverously thin frame. They look up in unison and jump to their feet, and the man waves us into the room.
“Jackson. So good to see you. Felicitations on your joyous day. This must be your beautiful bride.”
Jack smiles. “It is. I’m pleased to introduce Claire Hunter. Claire, this is Henry Stephens and Margaret Haynes. They are our personal family attorneys.”
“Call me Maggie.” Her smile is warm and welcoming, much less formal than her partner. Her eyes are the queerest color, not blue, as I thought earlier, but a celadon green. “We’re so pleased to meet you at last, Claire. So pleased you’ve stolen our Jacky’s heart.”
“Maggie, for heaven’s sake. I’m thirty-eight, not ten,” Jack says, shaking his head in mock embarrassment. “Obviously, Henry and Maggie have been with the family for a very long time, Claire.”
“We both started with the Comptons right out of law school,” Henry says. “We’ve watched the boys grow up. We’re normally based in Palo Alto, but Brice flew us in last night.”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Maggie says. She has a kind smile.
“I’m very pleased to meet you. Sorry we’ve taken so long to show up. Thanks for waiting.”
I’m getting intimidated in the face of this continued opulence and generosity. Generational pearls and family lawyers and Faustian bargains and private Italian villas packed with priceless art—what’s next? A royal entourage? Will Jack’s mother sit me down and teach me the finer points of the princess wave?
“Not a problem at all,” Henry says, waving a hand around the room. “We’ve had plenty to entertain us. Now, Claire, I’m sure Jack explained to you about the structure of your prenuptial agreement? Oh, sit, sit.” He gestures to the empty chairs opposite. We settle in, the four of us as cozy as can be. I need to get used to these intimate enclaves, the odd sense of intrusion into our private life from the ancillary members of the Compton clan. First Henna and Fatima, now Maggie and Henry.
“We haven’t discussed it in detail, no. But I’m not in this for the money, so I’m not concerned. I’m sure whatever you’ve drafted will be fine.”
Maggie gives me a sharp glance. “If we handed you paperwork right now that explicitly stated you would forgo any settlements upon the marriage’s demise, you’d sign with no qualms?”
“Of course. Hand me a pen. All I want is Jack.”
And a dream dress, a swank destination wedding, and a castle on an island, but who’s counting?
Jack beams at me, and the lawyers share a private look. Henry opens a folder and pulls out a pale blue–backed legal document.
“Happily, Claire, we do things a little differently here. We have no intention of asking you to forgo anything should your marriage to Jackson end in divorce, or death. A settlement of 30 percent of Jack’s estate, including all fixed assets, confers to you regardless, right now.”
I can’t help sputtering. “Thirty percent? What? That’s...that’s too much.”
“It’s yours. The accounts are in your name, and your name only. As soon as you’ve legally changed your name to Claire Compton, that is. We’ve done all the necessary paperwork for the religious ceremony to be legal in the eyes of the Italian government, and as such, the Americans as well. You’ll be issued a marriage certificate here after the ceremony, and as soon as you’re back on US soil from your honeymoon, you will have a new social security card so you can get your new driver’s license, and then you’ll head to the bank. All will be waiting for you.”
This is more than a shock. Thirty percent of his estate? Regardless?
“That seems...overly generous.”
“We take care of our own,” Maggie says, teeth flashing again. Her grin is now predatory.
