Page 72 of Nobody's Fool

“I could use that money,” I say.

“I know.”

“I feel like I’m being bought off.”

“I assume so, yes. Do you want to tell me about it?”

I think about it. The only thing I know is Spain. What could I do with that? I can’t even prove the young woman—my Anna—was Victoria Belmond. I suspect it. I think it’s true. But I have zero proof. Even if I wanted to hurt the family, what could I do? Go to the press? And say what? I guess there’s an outside chance that I could stir up some trouble and scandal. Maybe that tiny worry is enough for the rich. A hundred grand is a small price to pay to insure that doesn’t happen.

One hundred thousand dollars, ladies and gentlemen.

Oh man oh man could I put that money to good use. I’m broke. I’mswimming in debt. And I’m also curious. Why does Belmond want to see me? If I refuse to sign and I’m driven back, my investigation into what really happened twenty-two years ago to me—and, more to the point, Victoria—hits a dead end. But if I sign, if I go in and talk to him…

One hundred thousand dollars, ladies and gentlemen.

“I’ll sign,” I say.

It’s the only move. It’s the only way I learn more. And if nothing comes from the meeting…

One hundred thousand dollars, ladies and gentlemen.

And there is one more thing here. If there is some attempt to cover up something worse, some kind of crime that I believe needs to be prosecuted, I’ll find a way to break the NDA. Sue me, assholes. I don’t have any money anyway except for…

I won’t say it again.

Arthur opens the enormous front door and leads me inside.

“Wait,” I say, “are you doing this pro bono?”

Arthur looks at me as though I’d asked him if the Easter Bunny was real. “I don’t work for free, Kierce, but don’t worry. That’s part of what I negotiated for you in all this—attorney’s fees.”

“Savvy move,” I say.

“Right? Also you wouldn’t have the money to pay me if you didn’t sign.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The house isn’t what I expected. There is no marble or gold or tacky columns or original Picassos or any of that stuff. The house seems more inspired by the Smithsonian than anyone from the Gilded Age. The opening room isn’t a ballroom or living room—it’s a stunning two-floor library that reminds me ofBeauty and the Beastexcept, well, more. There are signed first editions from Dickens, Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Harper Lee. I remember that when Victoria was found, the note was written by someone calling themselves the Librarian. Is there anything to that? Probably not. Rich people have libraries. It’s one of their things.

There is a stegosaurus skeleton and a cosmonaut’s spacesuit worn by Yuri Gagarin. There is the hatch to an Apollo capsule that landed on the moon. There are series of original letters between John Adams and Thomas Jefferson. I know all this—what these things are—because they have index cards next to them.

Two women are waiting for us at a wooden library table toward the back. There are tables in the middle of the library and the front of the library, but I suspect that we were sent this way so as to be impressed by the belongings. If that was the aim, mission accomplished, though I thought,I don’t know what impressing me with your overpriced artifacts is going to do for either of us.

A Black woman in an impeccably tailored suit rises and stretchesout her hand. I recognize her, though I don’t know how. Like maybe she’s a talking head on TV or been on the news or something like this. She has that look, whatever that means. She reeks of professionalism.

“Lenore Spikes,” she says to me in a soothing FM-radio voice. “I’m chief counsel and senior vice president of Belmond Industries. This is Jill McClain. She is a notary public who will witness and notarize your signature. Your attorney has already provided us with your bank information so we should be able to wire the payment in a matter of seconds.”

The four of us sit at the table. I sign. Lenore Spikes sends a message on her phone.

“The money is wired,” Spikes says, rising. “Shall we?”

“One second.”

I bring up my bank app. I don’t use it very often and it takes me a minute or two to sign in. I look at the balance and whoa nelly, it’s already updated. Because I know she worry-checks the account balance often, I send Molly a short text:

Yes, there is an extra $100K in our account. I’ll explain later.

I add a heart emoji. Molly counters almost immediately with that double-exclamation-point reply.