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VICTOR

I flashed my empty inner coat pockets at Lawrence. “Look, no cigarettes.”

His forehead wrinkled as his eyebrows shot up. “Well, I’ll be damned.” He let out a low whistle. “Didn’t think I’d see the day.” He motioned to the empty pair of leather chairs in front of his desk. “What prompted that miracle?”

“They make Barbara wrinkle her nose.”

Lawrence chuckled. “Your best pal hacks out his burnt lungs, and nothing. But your girl wrinkles her nose, and suddenly you’re a model of clean living.”

I smirked and sank into the chair. The leather groaned as I leaned back.

Lawrence’s office smelled of old books, paper, and polished mahogany—the scent of bureaucracy and long hours bending the law into the right shape.

Sunlight slanted through the Venetian blinds, carving the cluttered desk into bands of light and shadow.

Lawrence adjusted his glasses, the gold rims glinting. “So, how are you holding up? I know waiting isn’t your strong suit.”

“We’re managing,” I said. “How much longer do you think?”

He opened a file and flipped through a few pages, and for a moment, there was only the rustle of paper. “I’m doing everything I can to push things along. I got the case filed in a district with a sympathetic judge who won’t waste our time, but there’s only so much I can do.”

“How long until we get a court date?”

“Two months, give or take. That’s if everything goes smoothly.” He closed the file and steepled his fingers. “I met with Dorothy, and she agreed to our terms. For now. But Victor, don’t get comfortable. I wouldn’t carve it into stone just yet.”

“She’s angling for more, Larry. Always is.”

“She wants to see you suffer,” he said, his tone measured.

“And that’s why you have to be on your absolute best behavior.

A veritable choir boy. You can’t give her any ammunition with the judge.

” Lawrence rocked back in his chair, tapping a pen against his lips.

The striped shadows from the blinds cut across his face, masking his expression in bands of light and dark.

“You understand that means no contact with Barbara. Not even a phone call. You might have a tail, Victor. Hell, I’d put money on it.

If the judge suspects any collusion or infidelity, he could throw out the case. ”

I shifted in my seat, my slacks sliding along the smooth leather. My jaw tightened at the thought of Barbara—waiting, hoping, trusting me to navigate this.

I nodded. “She’s left my office. I haven’t seen her since. We’ve talked on the phone, but we’ve been careful,” I said. “Discreet.”

“Discreet won’t cut it,” Lawrence said, turning back to me. The creases between his brows deepened as he spoke. “You need to be invisible.”

I exhaled slowly. “She’s out there on her own, Larry.”

Lawrence removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, the skin raw from years of pressure. “I know,” he admitted, “but it’s the only way. Especially considering who her family is.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“What do I mean?” His tone turned exasperated. “You do know who her father is, don’t you?” His face twisted as he ruffled a hand through his thinning hair and tugged at it by the roots.

In all of our time together, Barbara and I had never once discussed her family.

“Victor!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in disbelief. “For Christ’s sake—she’s a Montgomery! How the hell didn’t you know that?”

“She would have told me,” I protested.

Lawrence huffed as he fished a file from one of the stacks on his desk and flipped it open.

“Barbara Evans, born Barbara Montgomery—the youngest child of Milton and Agatha Montgomery. Milton Montgomery was the mayor of Los Angeles back in the twenties. From there, he served in the state legislature in the thirties and eventually in the US Congress during the war. Currently, he’s on delegation to Hawaii as part of the statehood commission. ”

I let out a slow breath. “Oh, hell.”

“Indeed.” Lawrence shut the file with a soft thud. “She comes from serious stock, Victor. The kind of family that makes the society pages just for having Sunday dinner. You really didn’t know any of this?”

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to process the new information. The mahogany-paneled walls seemed to close around me, the scent of aged paper and leather thickening like smoke. “No. She never mentioned her parents.”

Lawrence shrugged. “Maybe she wanted you to like her for herself, not for her connections. Or maybe she thought you’d put two and two together.”

I stood, unable to sit still any longer. The striped shadows from the blinds danced on the walls as I paced. “Why does it matter who her family is?”

“It matters because they’re powerful, Victor. And power means scrutiny. Every move she makes is watched, and by extension, every move you make with her.”

I stopped pacing and turned to face Lawrence. “Are you telling me to walk away?”

“I’m telling you to go through this with your eyes open.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “You’re not just dealing with a difficult wife and a slow legal system now. Which brings me to my next point…”

“There’s more?”

“Afraid so. With the added scrutiny, particularly when Barbara files for divorce—which will make the papers, I can promise you—you’ll need to distance yourself from your…less-than-reputable operations.”

I stopped pacing. “Which operations?”

Lawrence sighed, long and deep, as if summoning the patience of a saint.

“Victor, don’t insult me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.

If you’ve got a good lieutenant, now would be the time to start handing him the keys.

Don’t just distance yourself. Make a break as wide as the Grand Canyon.

Your hands need to be clean enough to hold communion. ”

I walked toward the window, peering through the Venetian blinds.

Outside, Los Angeles moved at its usual frenetic pace—cars honking, people shouting, life rushing by with urgency.

My thoughts drifted to Barbara again—her soft golden curls and how she bit her lip when she was deep in thought.

A Montgomery. It made sense now—her elegance, her composure, her drive.

But how had I missed something so monumental? And why had she never told me?

Lawrence joined me by the window, his voice breaking through my inner turmoil.

“This won’t be easy, but it’s necessary if you want things to go smoothly.

” He looked at me over the gold rims of his glasses.

With a soft clap on my shoulder, he continued.

“You came to me because you trust me. I’m giving it to you straight.

” He dropped his hand back to his side. “I can help you make this work, but it will require sacrifice and time. If this is truly what you want, I’ll back you all the way. ”

I nodded. “Thank you, Larry.”

He shrugged. “What are friends for? But next time, do me a favor and bring me a smaller mountain to climb. You really can pick ‘em.”

The phone line crackled. “Hello?” Barbara’s voice was angelic.

“Hello, Barbara, my darling.”

A soft sigh drifted through the line. “What a pleasant surprise!”

I pinned the receiver between my ear and shoulder as I rocked back in my desk chair and flipped open the paper to the society pages.

A photograph of Mrs. Agatha Montgomery commanded the page.

She stood matronly and poised even as she held a ceremonial pair of oversized scissors—absurdly large in her dainty, gloved hands—for the ribbon cutting of the new city library.

“Are you busy?” I asked.

“Not especially,” she answered sweetly. “And my day is miles better now that I’m talking to you.”

“Good,” I said, closing the paper and setting it aside. “I wanted to talk to you about something important.”

The pause on her end was almost tangible, like a held breath. “Yes?”

“Do you know the new library on Robertson? The one with the Frank Lloyd Wright design?”

“Yes, I think so,” she said, her voice cautious.

“There’s a lovely piece in today’s paper about the grand opening.”

“Oh?” Her tone shifted, curiosity overriding the tension. “I haven’t seen it.”

“There’s a picture of your mother cutting the ribbon. It’s quite something.”

Silence flooded the line, heavy and awkward. I could almost hear her mind racing, piecing together my intentions. A deep breath rustled on her end, the static making it sound like dry leaves skittering across pavement.

“I didn’t realize you read the society pages,” she said, her tone now guarded.

“I don’t,” I replied. “But sometimes interesting things catch my eye.” I let that hang for a moment. “Barbara, why didn’t you tell me who your family was?”

“Because it doesn’t matter.”

“Barbara—” I started, but she cut me off.

“It doesn’t, Victor. I wanted you to know me for who I am, not for who they are. I’ve lived in the Montgomery family shadow all my life. It was nice to be seen for myself for once.” She was quiet for a fragile moment. “Does this change things?”

“Not in the slightest, darling.” I let out a long sigh. “I just wish you had told me yourself.” I rubbed my temples, the beginning of a headache creeping up my neck to settle behind my eyes. “I’m just trying to understand why you kept it a secret.”

“It wasn’t a secret,” she said, exasperation threading through the static. “It just wasn’t important. My family isn’t me.”

This conversation was slipping in the wrong direction. I loosened my tie, inhaling deeply, and searched for a way to pull us back from the edge. “Barbara, I’m not accusing you of anything. I just wish I’d known?—”

“Why?” Her question punched through the line.

“Because it puts us under a magnifying glass.” A beat. “And it might complicate the divorce.”

Her voice was soft and vulnerable when she spoke again. “What do you mean? What does my family have to do with it at all?”

I switched the receiver to my other ear and sat up straighter in my chair. “Lawrence says that with your parents’ influence, there will be more scrutiny. It’s not just us anymore. There’s no way to keep this out of the public eye. These things can get messy…”

The hush on the line stretched thin, taut as a wire.

“I just need to be prepared. That’s all. Forewarned is forearmed, right?”

Her tone turned brittle. “Well, pardon me for making your life difficult.”

“Aw, don’t be like that.”

Silence again. If not for the low hum of static, I might have thought she’d hung up on me.

“I need to see you, darling.” My voice was softer, coaxing.

“We can’t, Victor. Lawrence was crystal clear about that. No contact until your court date.”

“I know, I know. But I need to hold you in my arms. Now more than ever.”

The line crackled as she hesitated. “Victor, if we’re seen?—”

“We won’t be,” I assured her. “Give me some credit. I do know how to do things on the sly when I need to.”

She sighed, and I could almost see her biting her bottom lip, weighing the risks against the pull of desire. “When and where?”

I grinned. “Tomorrow at noon. Do you have a pen?”