Chapter 6: The Terms

At four that afternoon I sat in Cordelia Kenworthy's office on the fortieth floor and looked at a photograph of two girls.

It hung behind her desk in a plain black frame.

They were nineteen or twenty, in sweatshirts that said UNC CHARLOTTE, laughing at something outside the picture.

One of them had a white streak at her temple.

The other one had dark curls and a gap in her smile, and I'd have known her anywhere.

"You keep a picture of a thief on your wall," I said.

"Sit down, Ms. Odom."

I was already sitting.

Cordelia was behind the desk in charcoal, her pearls back on, her face closed up for business.

Piers stood at the door with his arms crossed.

She slid a single sheet across the glass.

"Here is what I am prepared to offer."

I read it.

It was a good offer, and that was what made me angry.

A legal name change to Kenworthy, if I wanted it.

A seat on the board when I turned twenty-five.

The house on Queens Road in my own name.

Six million dollars in trust, which was more than any court stenographer had earned in the history of Mecklenburg County.

And one line at the bottom.

Priscilla Odom shall not be publicly characterized other than as previously stated.

"What does that mean?" I said.

"It means you do not contradict me about her."

"Meaning she stays a thief."

"Meaning," Cordelia said evenly, "that the matter is closed."

I put the page down very carefully.

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