The Directive Read Free Page A

He’s always resented me for outmaneuvering him.
    If you hustle long enough, you can buy all the stage dressing you need to look legit, even the manners. But Clark, I feared, had finally convinced himself. That sort of hypocrisy is dangerous, and I—by who I was and what I knew and who loved me—threatened him deeply. No matter how much he talked me down to Annie, I tried to stay above it. I didn’t tell her about his past. It would just look petty.
    “There’s some business to settle, Mike,” he said. “I’m heading to Dubai tomorrow, so unfortunately I have to fit it in this evening.”
    One lawyer handed Clark a sheaf of papers. Another held a thick leather-bound binder that looked like a corporate checkbook.
    “Are there any incentives that might make you rethink this relationship? To see that it’s in your and my daughter’s best interest to take separate paths?”
    “You’re kidding,” I said.
    He stared back at me. He was totally serious.
    I rubbed my chin for a second, took in the mahogany bookshelves and my three inquisitors.
    In my jacket pocket, I had a white card that the check had come in back at the restaurant. It was nice linen paper, blank and folded once down the middle. I took it out, along with a pen, then leaned forward and jotted something down inside. I slid it across the table, sat back, and crossed my arms.
    For a moment, Clark seemed pleased that I was on board, that he could play his favorite game: haggling over money. Then he read the note.
    He breathed hard through his nose in anger, and dropped it on the table.
    I could see what I had written: There’s a seed in your teeth.
    I saw his tongue working behind his lips to extract it as he glowered at me. After I left my last job, a lot of firms had sought me out to come work for them. So I had a fair amount of practice shooting people down when they tried to buy me. Clark placed the sheaf of papers on the table in front of me.
    I was angry, of course. I could feel the heft of the knife in my pocket, and for a moment I had a surreal image in my mind: if I poked one of these beautifully upholstered counselors, only wool stuffing would come out. But the truly infuriating issue was that I couldn’t show how furious I was. That would play into his hand, his belief that I was some hood. No, I had to be Bruce Banner. Calm. Stay calm.
    “You may be aware that we have considerable family business interests,” Clark said. “Annie is involved with several trusts and holding companies, and there’s some housekeeping—legal, financial, tax—that needs to be squared away before…” he trailed off in a pained breath.
    I started leafing through the stack. It was a half inch thick and as complicated as a merger agreement, but it was, in essence, a prenup, in case I was trying to gold-dig the lovely Annie Clark for however many tens of millions she was due as Sir Larry’s sole heir.
    “This is a legal document,” attorney two began.
    Thanks. Clark tended to forget that I had a JD/MPP from Harvard. I let his attorney ramble on while I finished reading through and marked the contract in a few places.
    “This is just a draft,” he said. “A starting point. I’m confident we can work something out. You’re free to seek independent counsel, of course. Do you see any problem with that?”
    I tossed the papers on the table. “I do, actually.”
    They exchanged glances. Attorney one’s nostrils flared slightly. I could see their excitement grow. Legal battles were better than sex to these people. The whole contract was a slap in my face, of course, and I’m sure what Clark wanted was a fight. But I wasn’t going to indulge him.
    “There’s a mistake on page nineteen. You were probably thinking of New York. Virginia goes with the Uniform Legal Code on family law,” I said. “But that’s no big deal.”
    “It’s a draft,” Clark’s lawyer stammered.
    “It’s fine. Who wants to witness?”
    “Sorry?” Clark said.
    “I couldn’t