Chapter 8: Order Me

The lawyer came at ten on Friday morning, alone, with a leather case and a very good coat.

I made her wait in the hall for a full minute before I opened the door.

"Ms. Haskett. I'm here for Mr. Gantry."

"Of course you are."

She came in without being asked and set the case on my drafting table.

She didn't look at Eleven, who stood by the sink with a pot of coffee in her good hand.

"This is a courtesy," the lawyer said. "Mr. Gantry would like to license your next-generation weave to Kestrel."

"I haven't designed one."

"You have three prototypes in the second drawer of that table."

I didn't look at the drawer.

Someone had been inside my loft, or someone had been told, and I filed that away for later.

She slid a thick packet across the table.

"An exclusive license to anything you design from here on."

"Four million dollars on signing."

"In exchange, Kestrel will drop its interest in the matter of the unit."

"What matter?"

"The one with Ms. Ketteridge's face."

She smiled.

"Kestrel owns that likeness. Any rental or resale of it is a violation."

"Mr. Gantry is prepared to be generous."

Behind her, Eleven had stopped breathing.

I saw it from the corner of my eye.

I said, "How generous?"

"Four million."

Behind me the coffee pot hit the floor.

It burst on the concrete, glass and black coffee over everything.

"I'm sorry," Eleven said. "My hand slipped."

She was staring at the packet, white to the lips.

The lawyer finally looked at her.

"Fascinating," she said. "Ms. Haskett, Mr. Gantry is not a patient man."

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