Terms and Conditions

She read the contract four times at her kitchen table.

It was an elegant piece of work. Twelve pages. Twenty-three clauses. No loopholes that she could find, and she had spent six years finding loopholes for a living.

Clause 1. The marriage is for a term of twelve months.

Clause 4. Neither party shall develop emotional attachment to the other.

Clause 7. Physical contact shall be limited to public appearances.

Clause 11. The parties shall maintain separate bedrooms.

Clause 14. The Wife shall not enter the east wing of the residence without the express permission of the Husband.

She read that last one twice.

"What is in the east wing?" she muttered.

"What are you doing?"

Ada jumped. Zainab stood in the doorway in her hospital-issue slippers, wrapped in a borrowed blanket. The doctors had let her come home for the night, with a long list of instructions.

"You're supposed to be resting."

"I couldn't sleep." Zainab shuffled in and sat across from her. Her eyes dropped to the papers. "That's not a work thing."

"No."

"Is it about the money?"

Ada hesitated. She had never lied to her sister, not once, not even when it would have been kinder.

"A man has offered to pay for your surgery," she said slowly. "In exchange for something."

"What something?"

"I can't tell you yet."

Zainab was quiet for a while. Then she reached across the table and covered Ada's hand with hers. The fingers were thin and cold.

"Is he the man who hurt Daddy?"

Ada's throat tightened. "I think so."

"Then don't take his money."

"Zee—"

"Don't. I would rather..." Her voice cracked. "I would rather not have the operation than have you do something terrible because of me."

For a moment Ada could not breathe.

She thought of her father in his office, alone, with his head in his hands. She thought of the way he had said, in the last phone call they'd ever had, Do not worry about me, Adanna. The truth will come out.

It had not come out. It had been buried.

"Listen to me," she said, and her voice was fierce. "I am not doing this for you. I am doing this for Daddy. And for me. You are the reason I don't have to do it alone. But you are not the reason I am doing it."

Zainab searched her face. "That sounds like a lie."

"Half of it is."

A shaky laugh escaped her sister. "You are the worst at this."

"I know." Ada pulled her into a hug and held her until the trembling eased. "Go to bed."

When Zainab was gone, Ada sat alone with the contract and her father's last ledger, the one she had taken from his desk after the funeral because the police had not wanted it. She turned to the final page, the one with his handwriting in the margin.

Three words, underlined twice.

Check the transfers.

She had never understood what they meant. Now, with the signature of the man who had destroyed him sitting a foot away from her, she thought she might finally have a way to find out.

At 11:40 p.m., she drove back to Victoria Island.

Tobi opened the door of the penthouse suite with an expression that might have been relief. Damian was sitting at the dining table with a single glass of water, as though he had not moved all evening.

"Miss Bello."

"I have conditions."

"The contract is not negotiable."

"Then I won't sign."

He studied her for a long moment. "Name them."

"One. I keep my job at Crestmont. I will not be an ornament in your house."

"Granted."

"Two. Zainab's surgery happens this month. Not in a year. Now."

"Already arranged."

"Three." She lifted her chin. "I have access to Okafor Holdings' finance department. Not as your wife. As a consultant."

Silence.

For the first time since she had met him, Damian looked genuinely surprised. Then, slowly, something that might have been the ghost of a smile touched the corner of his mouth.

"You want to look at my books."

"I want to earn my keep."

"You want to look at my books," he repeated, and now he sounded almost pleased. "Granted. On one condition."

"Which is?"

"You ask me before you open anything marked red."

"Why?"

"Because some doors," Damian said, "are closed to protect the person who opens them."

Ada did not know what to make of that. She took the pen he offered, black and heavy with a gold band near the tip, and bent over the last page of the contract.

Her eyes caught on the barrel.

Two letters, engraved in tiny script just below the nib.

S.B.

Her breath stopped.

Samuel Bello had owned a pen like this. One pen. A gift from her mother, thirty years ago. It had vanished from his desk the week the company fell.

"Is something wrong?" Damian asked.

Ada looked up. His face was calm. His eyes were unreadable.

Where did you get this?

She almost asked. The words were already on her tongue.

But the contract was waiting, and the pen was in her hand, and a voice in her head, cold and clear and sounding very much like her father's, whispered: Not yet. Let him think you haven't seen it.

She signed.

Adanna Bello.

"Welcome to the family, Mrs. Okafor," Damian said quietly.

And Ada, who had spent three months planning his downfall, felt a chill run down her spine, because for one terrifying second, the way he said it did not sound like a man who had won.

It sounded like a man who had been waiting a very long time.