“You had a mistress,” Rachel said. “Who you sent dick pics in the middle of your birthday party. I’m not sure you should be talking to me about broken promises.”
Matt’s eyes shifted to his father. Herman didn’t meet his gaze, but his shoulders were stiffer than when they started. Julia cleared her throat and slid a piece of paper across the table. “Let’s discuss this trust.”
“That’s Faith’s,” Matt said quickly. “It’s with a trustee, so you can’t touch it. She’ll get full control when she turns twenty-five.”
Rachel looked at Herman. “You have an excellent poker face.”
He gave a half shrug. “I don’t play poker. Gambling’s for people who never win.”
“How insightful,” Julia said flatly. “And also unethical. But who am I to throw stones, right?” She winked at Ben, who looked annoyed. Apparently, his professional respect only extended so far outside the courtroom.
“This is a waste of time,” Matt groaned. “You signed the prenup. You broke our deal. What are we even talking about?”
“Our marriage,” Rachel said. “Which we ruined with the selfish choices that brought us here. But we don’t have to keep making the same mistakes.”
Matt shifted in his chair. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t want to fight you,” she said. “We raised Faith together, and that should be the only thing that still connects us. The good thing. Not this. Not you robbing me of the chance to build a life without you.”
“I’m not doing that. You can get a job, or go back to school—”
“I could have done those things years ago,” she said. “But I was too busy being your wife.”
Matt blinked and his brow furrowed. She knew him well enough to know when something finally resonated. She’d been there when he drafted his first platform. Her inbox was still filled with all the blog posts and articles she’d written in support of his campaign. She could open her calendar and show them an hour-by-hour accounting of how she’d prioritized his life over hers.
Rachel stared across the table and watched the truth slowly register on his face. Herman drummed his fingers, his unnatural calm finally caving to the long silence between them.
“My son is right,” Herman said. “Unless you plan to challenge the prenup—”
“We do.” Julia licked her thumb and slid the prenup across the table, to Herman this time. “See that signature there? That’s Ben as Rachel’s attorney of record.”
Herman’s jaw clenched and he gave Matt a sharp glare. “Goddamn it, son.”
Matt frowned. “What? What is it?”
“Good thing he’s a politician,” Julia said. “He’s not a very good lawyer. If Benji is here”—she tapped the contract—“then he shouldn’t be here.” She pointed across the table to Ben. “That’s a conflict of interest.”
“It’s a weak argument,” Herman said. “Rachel consented, and Ben doesn’t have to be part of the legal team.”
“Sure, maybe.” Julia nodded. “A judge might go for that. Or, they might see it as two self-interested rich, powerful white men railroading a Black single mother into an unconscionable contract without adequate assistance of counsel.” She nodded. “So maybe not so weak.”
“You’re right,” Herman said. “We do have money. Enough to drag this out until it bankrupts both of you.” He looked at Rachel. “Is she working on a contingency?”
“You don’t talk to my client,” Julia snapped. “You talk to me.”
Herman leaned forward and met her eyes. “You can’t win this.”
Julia pulled out another sheet of paper from her bottomless folder and placed it in front of Matt. Rachel looked on in awe, though she had been expecting this. Julia had explained every tactic she planned to use during their strategy meeting. “Men like Herman aren’t used to waiting. He won’t show it, but it’ll set his teeth on edge. That’s how we’ll start this off,” she’d said.
Matt picked up the paper and started reading, while Herman waited. Julia lifted a finger and said, “Give him a minute.”
Matt paled. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s Alesha’s next op-ed in the Post,” Rachel said. “Written by me.”
“Summarizes the whole scandal,” Julia said. “I might have added a few choice details. Like that part about you having sex in the bathroom with your girlfriend at the Vasquez anniversary party.”
“You can’t print that!” He slammed his hand on the table. “It’s defamation.”
“No, it isn’t,” Rachel said. “Read it again, Matt. It’s all true.” She paused. “Except for the bathroom part. Was it in the study?”
“This is blackmail.” He glanced at Herman, who kept his eyes on the op-ed. “You fucking shark. You can’t blackmail people to win a case.”
“But paying someone off to win a federal election is fine?” Julia looked at Herman. “You’re right,” she said. “I don’t have the money you do. I could last eight, nine months in litigation, tops.” She tapped the op-ed. “But this? Costs nothing. And we can do it for years.”
Herman crumpled the article in one hand. “Don’t underestimate me, Julia.”
“You shouldn’t underestimate me.” The look she gave him was so lethal that if someone told Rachel that Julia put a hit out on Herman Abbott, she might actually believe them.
Ben lifted a hand. “Swords down. This is supposed to be a negotiation, so let’s negotiate.” Ben focused on Julia. “How about a monthly allowance until she gets back on her feet.”
“No allowance,” Rachel said. “I want the money I was promised. And the house.”
Matt shook his head. “That house is worth—”
“It’s my house.” She paused. “I also want the building on Broad Street.”
Matt’s confusion confirmed her suspicions. He didn’t remember that it was her idea to buy the building in the first place. Two years into their marriage she’d approached him about starting a nonprofit for young artists. She’d done the legwork, found the commercial space, and celebrated with champagne when they’d closed. Six months later, she was told the space was being used for his mayoral campaign headquarters. His staff had rotated in and out of the building ever since.
“I need that building,” he said. “For the campaign.”
“Based on the latest polls, I don’t think you’ll be needing it much longer.” Rachel crossed her legs and swiveled in her chair. “Find another place for your dying career prospects.”
“Just give it to her,” Ben said. “You can find another building.”
The room fell silent. Rachel’s demands sat next to Alesha’s article. Matt stared at them like someone had discovered the dead bodies he’d buried.
He finally conceded. “Okay.”
Ben grabbed his briefcase and stood. Matt didn’t move. He clasped his hands on the table and looked at Rachel with begrudging respect. “My campaign headquarters. Really? The money wasn’t enough?”
Rachel looked at Herman, who watched them with his dead, gray eyes. “When it’s for your dignity, it never is.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO