could require that our agreement discharge the payment obligation clearly. I told her to do what protected the process and both of us, even if Clare never understood why. Dana replied that this was the first sensible thing I'd said all week, and for the first time since Thursday I laughed without immediately feeling guilty.
I called Rachel after that conversation. She answered from what sounded like a hospital hallway, with a rolling cart squeaking somewhere nearby. When I told her about Whitaker Cellars, there was silence long enough that I could hear the distant beeping of equipment.
Then she said, very flatly, "He has a company account now. Of course he does." Her anger was not loud. It was the sort of anger that has stopped expecting better behavior.
"Is there anything your lawyer needs from me?" I asked.
"Maybe. He's avoiding being served. We know where he sleeps some nights, but he changes plans whenever the process server gets close. He blocked my number after I asked about the penthouse. He comes home to see the kids when it suits him, and then disappears before I can get somebody to the house."
She sounded exhausted, and I asked whether she had help with the children. Her sister had been staying over on nights Rachel worked late, she said, and her mother was handling school pickup when she could. Lily was asking why her father couldn't attend her school activities if he was building a restaurant in the city. Rachel had begun answering more honestly without giving the children details that could frighten them. Daddy was making choices that kept him away, she told Lily. Those choices were not the children's fault.
"I hate hearing her say that," Rachel admitted. "She repeats it back to me like she's memorizing something for a test. 'Daddy's choices aren't my fault.' A little girl shouldn't need that sentence."
There was nothing useful I could say. I told her the signing meeting was likely to be Friday morning, and she asked whether James planned to attend. Clare's lawyer had mentioned him as a guest who wanted to reassure Clare she was being treated fairly. Rachel gave a short laugh that contained no amusement. "He doesn't want to reassure anybody," she said. "He wants to watch the money land."
I checked Dana's calendar and called Rachel back with the details: Friday at ten, ninth floor of the Callaway building downtown. Her voice changed when I gave the location. She asked whether the lobby was accessible to the public, and I said it was a normal office building with a coffee cart near the elevators. Then she was quiet for a moment, considering what she'd need to do. I could almost see the shape of an idea forming, but I did not offer to participate until I understood it.
"My lawyer needs him served," she said. "And if he's there, he won't be able to disappear when he sees somebody coming. Could you tell me when the meeting is finished? The process server can wait downstairs."