‘Maybe you’ll spend it all,’ Lara says. ‘You mentioned a holiday place in France. I hope you’ll let us visit.’
‘If you leave the kid home with the nanny.’
‘Of course! I’ll need to get away! And you will start your own art gallery,’ Lara continues. ‘I think you’ll be very successful at it. You’ve got a great eye. Travelling the world, buying art, reselling at a profit. Your own galleries in New York and London and wherever you please. Sounds perfect to me.’
Jill looks back at Lara. It can’t be Lara behind the texts and the cameras. She couldn’t fake it this well.
‘This Ramirez though,’ Lara continues, her voice becoming more serious. ‘What was he doing at the memorial yesterday? Can’t you get him to leave you alone?’
Jill stares back at her friend. For a moment she feels dizzy. She’s not sure how to answer. She sips her coffee and says, ‘He seems to have it in for us– I don’t know why. It was just a horrible accident. He has no evidence that it was anythingbutan accident. He will have to give up eventually.’
‘What he’s doing is harassment. You shouldn’t have to put up with that.’
‘No, we shouldn’t,’ Jill agrees, as her eyes move nervously around the room.
Ted, sitting in the booth in the coffee shop, senses someone standing near him and glances up. It’s John fucking Burnley. He stares at his adversary. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ he says.
‘Nice to see you too,’ John says, sliding into the booth opposite and waving the server over. He orders a coffee, and the server moves away again.
‘How did you find me here?’ Ted asks.
‘Sorry, something came up. I was rushing to the park to meet you and saw you coming in here.’
‘You didn’t text me.’
‘What, are we dating now?’
Ted looks at him with distaste. He doesn’t buy it for a minute. He thinks John was watching him from a distance, then followed him here. He’s trying to throw him off balance. But he knows what John is doing, and it isn’t going to work. ‘We could have just cut all the bullshit and met here in the first place,’ Ted says. ‘We don’t have to play games.’
‘Who’s playing games?’ John says, smiling, as his coffee arrives.
‘I know what you’re doing,’ Ted says, leaning forward over the table between them, lowering his voice to an angry hiss.
‘What am I doing?’ John asks, leaning in to listen.
‘Planting the cameras. Those fucking text messages.’
‘Oh, that,’ he says, affecting boredom, leaning back against the red vinyl banquette. And then he smiles, and Ted is convinced that John is the one behind all of it.
‘How did you get inside my house?’ Ted demands.
‘I know people,’ John says, ‘with the right skills.’
‘Of course you do, you son of a bitch,’ Ted says. ‘Are there any more cameras?’
‘No.’
‘So– how much do you want?’ Ted asks abruptly. He hasreached the limit of his patience. He wants to know what he’s dealing with. He watches John consider.
‘What’s it worth to you?’ he asks.
This surprises Ted. It’s not what he expected. Now he must think carefully. ‘It has to be a one-time payment only. You can’t keep asking. That’s not how this is going to work.’ John stares at him, pursing his lips. ‘And I want the digital recordings back, all of them, and I have to be sure there are no copies.’ Ted knows that he will never be sure there are no copies. Of course Burnley would keep copies, and keep asking for more. That’s why he will have to kill him. And he will do it before he pays him a dime. John Burnley has no idea who he’s dealing with.
‘You haven’t suggested a number,’ John says.
‘Two million, and not a penny more.’
‘Double that, and you’ve got a deal,’ John says.