The taxi idled at the wrought-iron gates of the Bartlett estate.
The guard peered into the back seat. His lip curled when he saw the cab.
"Ms. Bartlett," he said into the intercom. "And... a guest."
"Husband," Aisha corrected loudly. "Open the gate, Jerry."
The gate creaked open.
They drove up the winding driveway. The mansion loomed ahead, a monstrosity of stone and ego.
"Remember," Aisha whispered, gripping Dominic's hand. "You're an entrepreneur. You're struggling, but you have 'potential'. Don't let them intimidate you."
Dominic looked at the house. He estimated its value at maybe twelve million. He had bought a penthouse in Tokyo last week for twenty.
"I'll be brave," he said deadpan.
They walked into the foyer. Laughter drifted from the drawing room.
They entered. Gretta was holding court, surrounded by a few socialites. Cathie was standing by an easel, displaying a painting.
"And this," Cathie was saying, "is my latest piece. I call it 'Storm'."
Aisha gasped. "That's mine."
The room went silent.
Aisha marched forward. "I painted that three years ago. The signature is under the frame tape."
Cathie's eyes widened, then filled with instant, practiced tears. "Aisha? You're... you're hallucinating again. Mom, she's having an episode."
Gretta rushed forward, her face a mask of concern. "Oh, honey. Did you take your meds? Look at your pupils."
She reached out to grab Aisha's arm.
Aisha slapped her hand away. "Don't touch me."
"Enough!"
Barry Bartlett stood in the doorway of his study. His face was purple with rage.
"You show up here, looking like a streetwalker, smelling like..." He sniffed. "Hot dogs? And you accuse your sister?"
"She's not my sister," Aisha spat. "And I'm here to tell you that the trust is mine. Paragraph 14 is satisfied."
She grabbed Dominic's hand and pulled him forward.
"Meet my husband."
Barry stared. He looked Dominic up and down-the leather jacket, the messy hair, the worn boots.
"This?" Barry laughed. It was a cruel, barking sound. "You married a hobo?"
Dominic stepped forward. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't look angry. He just looked... bored.
"Mr. Bartlett," Dominic said. "I'd appreciate it if you spoke to my wife with respect."
Barry stopped laughing. There was something in Dominic's tone-a steel core wrapped in velvet-that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
"Get out," Barry whispered. "Security!"
"We're leaving," Aisha said. She held up her phone. "But I've already emailed the marriage certificate to the trustees. If you try to stop the payments, I'll sue you for breach of fiduciary duty. And I'll do it loudly."
She turned on her heel. "Come on, Dominic."
They walked out.
Dominic glanced back at Barry. He offered a small, polite nod.
It was the nod of a predator acknowledging prey.
