Too Late, Madam: Your Husband Quit

The Cadillac Escalade smelled of leather and new car spray. The windows were tinted so dark that the streetlights outside were just blurry streaks of gray.

Christopher sat in the back, squeezed between two silent guards. Bruno was in the passenger seat.

They didn't speak. Christopher didn't ask where they were going. He felt the car turn onto the Long Island Expressway. The centrifugal force told him they were heading east. Back to the Gold Coast. Back to the cage.

Forty minutes later, the tires crunched on gravel.

The Mitchell Estate loomed in the darkness. It was a sprawling mansion that looked like it belonged in a gothic horror novel.

They dragged him out of the car and through the service entrance. They marched him straight to the library.

Hillary was sitting in her father's high-backed leather chair. The room was dimly lit by a green banker's lamp. She held a glass of whiskey in her hand. The amber liquid swirled as her hand trembled slightly.

"Sit," she said. She didn't look up.

Christopher sat in the chair opposite her. He made himself small. He clasped his hands between his knees.

"Hillary," he started, his voice shaky. "I don't understand."

She threw a folder onto the mahogany desk. It slid across the polished surface and stopped at his fingertips.

"Renewal contract," she said. "Double the salary. Five million a year."

Christopher looked at the folder. He didn't open it. He saw the text on the cover page. Indefinite Term.

"No," he whispered.

Hillary's head snapped up. Her eyes were red-rimmed. "Excuse me?"

"The contract ended. I did my job. I... I can't do it anymore."

Hillary stood up. She hurled her whiskey glass at the fireplace. It shattered against the brick, the sound exploding in the quiet room.

"You don't get to say no!" She screamed. "I made you! You were nothing before me. A waiter! A nobody!"

Christopher stared at the wet spot on the carpet where a shard of glass had landed. He didn't flinch. He knew why she was desperate. It wasn't love. It was public relations.

"I have a life," he lied.

"You have nothing!" Hillary walked around the desk. She loomed over him. "Calhoun hasn't signed the NDA yet. My father's stock is shaky. If the press finds out you left me the night of the Gala, the narrative spins out of control. I look weak."

The door to the library opened.

Harrison Mitchell walked in. He was wearing a silk robe, but his hair was perfectly combed. He looked like an older, more dangerous version of Hillary.

"Daddy," Hillary said, her voice dropping to a whine. "He's refusing."

Harrison walked over to Christopher. He placed a hand on the back of Christopher's chair. It felt heavy.

"Chris," Harrison said, his voice warm but hollow. "We're not unreasonable people. We just need a buffer period. Three months. Until the quarterly earnings report is out."

Christopher's mind clicked. Three months. That aligned perfectly with the Harris contract. And if he signed, maybe he could negotiate an advance. He needed money to live while the other five million was frozen.

He could use this.

He looked up at Harrison. He let the fear drain out of his face, replaced by a greedy glint.

"Double isn't enough," Christopher said.

Hillary gasped. "You greedy little-"

"Triple," Christopher said. "And I want my days free. I'll sleep here. I'll do the dinners. But from 8 AM to 6 PM, I'm off the clock. No questions asked."

Harrison studied him. He saw what he wanted to see: a poor boy trying to squeeze a few more dollars out of the rich man.

"Done," Harrison said. "Triple pay. Paid monthly. But you are back in the house by 6 PM sharp. And you wear the ring."

Harrison reached into his pocket and pulled out the platinum ring Christopher had dropped at the museum. He set it on the table.

Christopher looked at the ring. It was a shackle.

He picked it up and slid it back onto his finger. It felt cold and heavy.

"I need a car," Christopher said. "And a driver to drop me at the train station every morning."

"Fine," Hillary snapped. "Where are you going every day anyway?"

"School," Christopher said.

"School?" Hillary laughed. It was a cruel, barking sound. "You? You didn't even finish community college."

"I'm taking... extension courses," Christopher mumbled, looking down. "Self-improvement."

"Pathetic," Hillary sneered. "Trying to be something you're not."

"Go to bed, Chris," Harrison said, dismissing him. "Guest room. Not the master."

Christopher stood up. He walked out of the library. His legs felt heavy, but his mind was clear.

He went to the guest room on the second floor. He closed the door and locked it.

He sat on the edge of the bed and took off his shoe. He pried the heel open with his thumbnail. There was a small, black disk inside. The tracker Bruno had mentioned.

He took it to the bathroom and flushed it down the toilet.

He had secure housing. He had transportation. He had cash flow.

Now he just had to survive two different lives at the same time.