Page 72 of The Marriage Blunder

There was more. There was always more. But the thing I kept circling back to was the absence of what had always been the substance of Carolyn’s narrative. Not a word about love, or partnership, or “forever.” Every line in the dossier was a preemptive surrender of feeling for position, and if I had ever harbored a doubt about what I was to her, it was gone before I finished the second cup.

I closed the file, leaned back, and watched the sun drag itself over the slate horizon, painting the city with the same jaundiced light I felt in my own veins.

Then I picked up my phone, called Lucas, and told him it was time. There was no pretence. No “are you busy,” or “can I borrow you for a minute.” Lucas Kincaid was not a man who required or respected pretence.

He said, “We’ll be there in an hour,” and hung up.

By the time Lucas and Kyue arrived, the apartment was aired out and reset, as if nothing of consequence had ever happened here. I had that instinct in common with Jude: erase the evidence, build the next version.

They entered with an energy that belonged more to a corporate raid than a family intervention. Lucas had on a navy suit and the smile he reserved for hostile takeovers. Kyue wore black from head to heel, but the lines of it were soft—less armor, more restraint. Both of them looked at the folder on the table, then at me, and said nothing for the first ten seconds.

“Is this the whole file?” Lucas asked, breaking the silence.

“No,” I said. “But it’s enough.”

He opened the folder, thumbed through it, and passed it to Kyue, who read with the flat affect of someone who’d seen worse and never wished to again.

“You want to loop in Jake,” I said, not a question.

“Already here,” said Lucas, tapping his phone. “He’s waiting on the bridge line. Delancy’s got a back channel to Vance’s billing, which is how you got the printout. Joe Navarro’s reviewing the criminal exposure.”

“Did you want coffee?” I asked.

Kyue shook his head. “We stopped for energy drinks. Lucas is trying to get me to switch from Monster to whatever they drink in New York.”

“Coffee is fine,” said Lucas, but he was already dialing. The line chirped, and then Jake D’Amato’s voice filled the room, cool as a refrigerated boardroom.

“Status?” Jake said.

Lucas summarized in ten words what had taken Miles an hour and me all morning to process. “Vance is in bed with Carolyn, pre-Vegas. Pryce is running point.”

Jake’s reply was instant. “Got two minority partners in Pryce’s LLC who will not want the exposure. We can squeeze them. Do you want direct pressure or discovery?”

“Joe says discovery is enough,” said Lucas. “But the question is, do we want Carolyn boxed or paraded?”

“Jude?” said Jake, and for a moment it felt like a ghost had been called to the table, because he was the only person in the room who had not spoken.

I looked behind me and realized he was standing in the doorway, dressed for a morning that did not involve legal warfare: plaid shirt, gray joggers, and glasses smudged enough that I could not see his eyes behind them. He carried his coffee like a rosary, hands wrapped around it for warmth.

“How long have you been listening?” I asked.

“Long enough,” he replied, his voice even. “Are we talking about a settlement, or are we talking about a show?”

I looked at Lucas, who looked at me, and in that glance we agreed: there was not going to be a settlement.

Jake said, “If you want a show, I can get you one. But it’s not going to be the kind Carolyn can walk away from with her nails intact.”

Kyue, who had not stopped reading since entering the room, said, “She’ll fight. There’s nothing left but to fight.”

Joe Navarro, patched in now by some unseen hand, spoke with the surgical clarity of a lawyer who has already drafted three versions of the press release. “This is a conspiracy to commit corporate sabotage, with enough documentary evidence to put Carolyn, Pryce, and Vance in litigation for five years. If she wants to call it off, she’ll settle. If not, the only thing left is damage control.”

It was so cold, so precise, that for a moment the room dropped ten degrees.

Jude, still at the edge, finally spoke. “You’re missing something,” he said, and for the first time since the call started, everyone was listening to him. He set his mug down, took off his glasses, and fixed Lucas with a stare so direct it was almost rude. “She wants to win, but what she actually wants is to be the person who walks out first. This is how she’s always operated. If you leave her room, you make her the victim. If you make her leave, she’ll burn it down before she lets that happen.”

There was a silence, as all of us ran the scenario forward, and none of us liked the outcome.

“So you think we should… what?” asked Kyue. It wasn’t a challenge, but a request for clarity.