by Selena Black
“And I’m sure a judge will agree with her that the joint assets should be split ….”
“They’re not joint assets,” Mark cut in. He turned to his lawyer, who was still studying the piece of paper in his hand. “Mr. Simon,” he went on.
The elderly man looked up.
“My client is right,” he commented. “This is your list that we don’t agree to and the prenuptial agreement takes precedence.”
“Then my client,” Mr. Albert responded immediately in emphatic words. “Would like it to be known that she plans to go ahead and test that in front of a judge.”
“This is ridiculous,” Mark let out. “I ….”
Mr. Simon’s hand touched on his wrist to stop the words.
“Can I have a few minutes alone with my client,” he said.
“Of course,” Mr. Albert said. “You can use the side room.”
“I hope his attorney can talk some sense in to him,” Karen said to her lawyer, but in a voice loud enough to make sure that everyone in the room heard the comment.
Mark shook his head when he got to his feet and followed his attorney across to a door. It was opened, so they could step inside a smaller room that gave them some privacy.
“Do you want this to go to court?” Mr. Simon asked.
“No,” Mark replied. “But I’m not prepared to give her forty-five percent of my fortune.”
“I’m not asking you to,” Mr. Simon went on. “But if you want to avoid the limelight of a celebrity court case, you may have to offer your wife a better deal than the prenup.”
Mark let out a sigh. He’d expected the divorce to be settled quickly and easily because of the signed agreement that was in place. It seemed his gold digging wife wasn’t about to give up on getting her hands on as much of his fortune as she could without a fight though. In truth, that didn’t come as a complete surprise, but it was an aggravation he could do without in his life.
“What if I stick to my guns?” he asked.
“Then it would appear your wife is going to take you to court,” Mr. Simon replied.
“And what does that mean?” Mark went on.
“It means that your divorce could be more than a year away,” Mr. Simon answered.
“A year!” Mark exclaimed, but realized that he was talking too loud and lowered his voice. “How the hell can that be right? This isn’t a game. It’s my life we are talking about and I don’t need this hanging over me for another year.”
“I understand that,” Mr. Simon replied and paused before going on. “But the unfortunate truth is that for your wife it is a game. It’s a waiting game that her attorney is an expert at playing. He knows that in all likelihood if the case goes to court they will lose and has probably said as much to your wife. However, if they drag the process out by playing the legal system and making every delay possible then it builds the pressure on you to make a deal. It all comes down to whether you are prepared to tough it out and see things all the way through to the end.”
“I am,” Mark said, with a confidence that he didn’t actually feel.
The thought of more meetings, court dates, and being unable to shake off his money grabbing wife for another year sapped his energy and darkened his mood.
“Would you be prepared to offer your wife a better deal than is agreed in the prenup?” Mr. Simon asked.
Mark couldn’t countenance caving in to his wife and needed only a second to think before giving his answer.
“No,” he said firmly. “She came in to this marriage as a virtually penniless jazz singer and did nothing to change that during our years of marriage. She spent them living off me and I’m not exactly throwing her out on her ear with nothing now that we are parting. She will walk away with a million and all her personal belongings. I’m not giving her any more.”
“OK,” Mr. Simon went on. “Then that’s what we tell them.”
He opened the door and ushered his client out and the pair of them returned to the table and sat down.
“I’ve spoken with my client,” Mr. Simon started. “And he is of the mind that the prenuptial agreement is a generous offer considering that Miss Wilson came in to their relationship with nothing and made no effort to help them as a couple during their years of marriage.” He slid the piece of paper with the list of assets across the table to show that he wasn’t interested in it.
“Then I’ll go ahead and file the papers to start the legal proceedings,” Mr. Albert replied.
The two men nodded at each other and got to their feet, but Mark and Karen remained sitting staring at each other. He could see the anger on her face, but didn’t care and the lawyers were already walking to the meeting room door when he got to his feet.
“You’ll regret this,” Karen hissed in a low voice.
“I don’t think so,” Mark replied coldly.
“When this gets to court, I’ll make sure that all our dirty laundry is aired in the full glare of publicity,” she went on. “You better be ready for a long and contentious fight that will fuck up your precious privacy.”
Her eyes blazed as she got to her feet and glared at him. The long, flowing dress clung to her svelte figure and she ran her hands down over her hips, as if she was trying to show him just what he was missing.
“I’m ready for anything,” Mark told her.
“It’s you that will suffer,” she threatened. “I’ll make sure I know every sordid little secret in your life to tell the judge about your uncontrolled drinking, womanizing and intolerance towards me.”
“Get real,” Mark said and let out a humorless laugh. “The only unreasonable behavior in our marriage came from you.”
“Watch yourself Mark,” Karen threatened as the anger flashed across her face. “I’m going to get what I deserve and make sure that you are humiliated in the process.”
She spun away imperiously and strode across the room to leave before he got the chance to respond. He knew that she was just throwing out idle threats, but he was also aware that she was someone he shouldn’t underestimate. In her interpretation of the break up, she genuinely believed she was the spurned woman and there was no doubt that she was interested in more than just money now. There was revenge on Karen’s mind and that could be bad news for him.
The foul mood he expected now clouded his mind and his thoughts were dark as he followed the others out of a meeting room he was coming to detest.
Chapter 3
Jack was slow to pack his trumpet in its case and the other members of the Reynaud Jazz Dandies were already making their way towards the stage door that led out to the club before he was finished. That was fine by him because he wasn’t planning to go out and speak to the customers anyway. It would more than likely tick off his boss that he didn’t make an appearance, but he would just have to live with that. There were more pressing matters on his mind that evening.
When he was finally alone, the care he showed in packing his instrument disappeared as he slammed the lid of the case down then locked it. He picked it up and headed towards the rear exit of the club. His gaze remained on the floor all the way there, but he passed no one and let out a sigh when he stepped through the door to a dark alley. Getting out of the place without being seen by Mr. Reynaud was a relief, but that emotion was quickly replaced by nerves as he thought of what he was about to do.
“It’ll be fine,” he encouraged himself, but didn’t quite believe what he was saying.
He got his legs moving and kept to the darker alleys as he made his way to his destination. The dilapidated building he eventually came to a halt in front of had seen better days and the apartments inside were no better. Getting his legs moving again was more difficult now, but he inhaled deeply and forced himself to walk inside the pitch black hallway. He needed to slow down until his eyes adjusted to the darkness, but didn’t stop as he made his way to the stairwell.
The climb to the fifth floor left him breathing heavily, but that wasn’t the only reason his heart was pounding. Sweat bro
ke out on his forehead when he got to the door he wanted and he lifted a hand to wipe it away. He then reached out to knock, but hesitated as his fears came to life.
“It’ll be fine,” he tried to convince himself again, but the words did nothing to calm the racing of his pulse.
In the end he knew there was no choice but to knock and he did so. The following silence unnerved him as he waited. His hope began to rise that their might be no one inside, but that was dashed when he heard the sounds from within.
“Who is it?” a voice shouted.
“It’s Jack,” he replied. “Jack Chambers.”
The rattling of chains preceded the door being opened and he tried to feign a look of determination when he saw the face staring at him. He wasn’t sure he managed it and it certainly wasn’t confidence that he was feeling.
“Inside now,” Alain Ledoux growled in an unwelcoming greeting.
Jack stepped inside and watched as Alain moved out to the hallway to look towards the stairwell.
“It’s just me,” Jack said.
The other man remained in place staring along the hallway. He said nothing when he eventually came inside, slammed the door shut and hooked the security chains in place. The sleeves of the black t-shirt he was wearing were rolled up to reveal tattoos on bulging biceps, with the dark material covering up the rest of the ink art that adorned his burly physique.
Jack stared at the way his acquaintance’s lank blonde hair hung down over the collar of the t-shirt. It gave Alain an unkempt appearance, as did the dark, scruffy stubble that covered his chin. His bent nose gave him the look of a boxer, but the violence he indulged in wasn’t carried out inside a ring or under Marquis of Queensbury rules.
He was prone to picking on those that weren’t likely to fight back although the state of his nose showed that he wasn’t always successful in that. Jack remembered Gloria’s words from the previous evening. A lowlife was her description of Alain and in all honesty, it wasn’t far off the mark. He liked to portray himself as some sort of criminal mastermind to anyone that would listen, but in reality his ambitions far outweighed his capabilities. The petty crimes of bag snatching and muggings were how he made his money, with the odd house robbery thrown in if he could find a soft enough target.
Jack knew that Alain aspired to more lucrative schemes and was hoping he could use that information to get himself out of the trouble he was in. Whether his idea worked or not remained to be seen and the door being locked to trap him inside the dingy apartment made his fears grow.
“Go through to the kitchen,” Alain said gruffly.
Jack moved as a strong hand slapped against his shoulder. It wasn’t his first visit to the apartment, so he knew where he was going and the sight of the table when he walked in the kitchen reminded him of the card game of a couple of nights ago. It was the reason for his return to the place and he was relieved to see there was no one else there. A trail of steam rose up from the cup sitting on the table and Alain moved to pick it up then sipped at the contents. It was only when he put it down again that he spoke.
“Have you got it?” he asked and threw a menacing look across the kitchen.
“Yes,” Jack replied. “But ….”
“Just shut up and give it to me,” Alain went on.
Jack’s hand was shaking when he reached inside his pocket to bring out the small roll of bills. He held it out towards his acquaintance.
“It’s not ….” he started.
“I said shut the fuck up,” Alain growled as he snatched the money.
Jack knew the shit was about to hit the fan and saw the anger light up on his compatriot’s face. He held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture as he spoke.
“I was trying to tell you ….” he started.
It was as far as he got before anger erupted to violence. The grip on his throat stopped any more words and he was no match for the size and power of Alain. His trumpet case clattered to the floor as he was propelled across the kitchen and he winced in agony as he was crashed against the wall. The hold around his neck tightened to choke him and he desperately fought for air.
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Alain snarled through clenched teeth and thrust his head forward until their faces were only inches apart. His furious voice became louder still as he shouted. “Is that what you fucking think?”
Speckles of wet spit peppered Jack’s face and his fear grew as Alain’s free hand then cracked across his cheek. It caused an eruption of pain and he knew there would be more unless he said something.
“No,” he managed to get out in a strangled gasp.
“This is fifty dollars,” Alain went on when he held up the bills in his hand. “You owe me one hundred, so where is the rest of my fucking money.”
Jack could barely speak as the stranglehold on his throat throttled him. It was only when the grip eased a bit that he managed to get some words out.
“Just hear me out,” he wheezed. “I’ll get you much more than fifty dollars.”
Alain’s eyes narrowed as he stared and after a few seconds he took a step away.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded.
The relief of the grasp on Jack’s throat being loosened was instant and he leaned forward as he attempted to suck in a lungful of air. He kept inhaling deep breaths to try and recover some of his composure, but he didn’t wait too long to answer the question for fear that the violence would start again.
“I met a guy at the club,” he said.
“That’s it,” Alain yelled and raised a hand.
“Wait,” Jack appealed. “This guy is loaded and I mean really loaded.”
“Yeah, and …,” Alain let out as he took another step away.
“I’ve chatted to him on a few occasions and he’s really into jazz,” Jack went on as he straightened up. “He also likes to drink and he’s ended up almost under the table on a couple of occasions when he’s been at the club.”
“I don’t see how that will get me more than fifty dollars,” Alain said. His voice was lower now although his tone was skeptical. “Are you planning to get him so drunk that you’ll steal his wallet or rifle his pockets?”
“No,” Jack replied. “I have a much better idea than that. This guy really is loaded from what he told me when he’s been drunk and we are talking about a fortune in the millions. Maybe even the hundreds of millions.”
Alain narrowed his eyes as he stared then shook his head.
“Yeah right,” he said in a derisive tone. “You’re telling me someone worth that much visits Reynaud’s club and spends his time speaking to you? I think he might be having a joke at your expense.” He let out a mocking laugh as he returned to the table and picked up his cup of coffee.
“I’m telling you it’s true,” Jack insisted as he stepped away from the wall.
“Come on,” Alain went on. “He’s getting drunk and telling you a bunch of shit and you’re falling for it. What’s his name?”
“Mark Godfrey,” Jack replied. “I didn’t just take his word for it. I checked him out. He’s a big shot in a media firm and supposedly is worth a fortune. I’ll show you.”
He got his smartphone out and brought up the information he saved from the internet on the screen. When he moved to the table, he handed his phone over.
“This is really the guy?” Alain asked after checking out the details.
Jack heard the growing interest in his acquaintance’s voice, but kept the smile from his face.
“Yes, it’s him,” he answered. “He’s a jazz buff and likes the music we play at the club. It’s why he comes along. Like I said, I’ve spoken with him after a few performances and we’ve gotten friendly.”
“This doesn’t give his true worth,” Alain said when he held up the phone.
“It says enough,” Jack pointed up. “There are a few stories there alluding to the millions he’s made. It’s certainly a lot more than fifty dollars.”
“So what exactly is your idea?” A
lain asked when he sat on a chair at the table.
Jack did the same and picked up his phone when it was slid across the surface to him.
“You’ve told me often enough that you want to move on to something more lucrative,” he replied. “This is a chance to do that. The guy likes to drink and I’ve seen him go overboard a couple of times to get almost paralytic. If I set up a party at my apartment, I’m sure I can get him to come along. We could slip something in his drink to make sure he’s really out of it then get some compromising footage of him with a hooker. I’m sure he would pay well to stop it being splashed all over the headlines. By all accounts he likes his privacy and wouldn’t want a scandal hanging over him.”
