for intruding but I’m in possession of information that will save you millions of dollars.”
“If you’re selling something, stop right now.”
“This concerns your prenuptial agreement with your wife. I know it terminates tomorrow and I know you’ll have to pay Carrie twenty million dollars—two million for every year she’s been married to you—if she’s remained faithful.”
Blair flushed with anger. “How do you know the details of our agreement?”
“Carrie told me after we’d slept together.”
“What!”
“I’m an attorney, Mr. Blair. My specialty is criminal defense. Your wife and I have tried cases against each other. One evening, we met in her office after one of our trials recessed.” Benedict shrugged. “One thing led to another and we made love. After that, we started meeting regularly.”
“Can you prove any of this?”
“Oh, yes. Take me to your front door. I have something to show you.”
“My front door?”
“You’ll understand in a minute.”
Blair was about to say something. Then he changed his mind and led the way to the front hall. The lawyer opened the front door.
“Please give me your front-door key.”
Blair looked confused, but he fished his keys out of his pocket and took the front-door key off of his key chain.
“I’m going to step outside and close the door. When I’m outside, check the door to make sure it’s locked.”
Benedict stepped outside and closed the door. Horace tested the door to make sure it was locked. Moments later, Benedict opened the locked door.
“What does this prove?” Blair asked.
Benedict handed Blair the key he held in his hand.
“Most of the time, Carrie came to my condo when we made love,” Benedict said as Horace put the key back on his key chain, “but she was into risk and we made love here on several occasions when you were away. I would wait until she called me and I’d drive over. Carrie gave me this.”
Benedict took a key out of his pocket that was identical to the key Blair had given him. He opened the front door again.
“Make sure it’s locked,” Benedict instructed before he stepped outside and shut the door. Moments later, he reentered the front hall.
“This is your proof?” Blair asked. “No court will rule that Carrie violated the prenup because you have a key to my front door.”
Benedict removed an envelope from his inside jacket pocket.
“I also have a DVD showing Carrie and me making love. Would you like to see it?”
Blair’s shoulders sagged and he suddenly looked his age. His marriage to Carrie had disintegrated but he was still shocked that he had never suspected that she was cheating on him.
“How much do you want, Mr. Benedict?”
The lawyer looked confused. Then he looked offended.
“You think I came here to ask for money?”
“Well, I . . . naturally.”
“No, no, I should have made myself clear from the start. I was in love with Carrie, and I thought she cared for me. She told me she had to stay with you because of the prenup, but she swore she loved me and would marry me when she got your money and could divorce. Then she dumped me.”
Benedict looked down. “She said she’d found someone else. She said she was bored with me. I couldn’t believe how callous she was. She’d been using me all along, Mr. Blair, the same way she used you.
“No, Mr. Blair, I don’t want money, I want her to pay for the way she treated me. Carrie took advantage of both of us and I want to see her suffer the way she’s made me suffer.”
Benedict held out the sex tape. “This DVD is my gift to you. Make good use of it.”
Benedict and Blair shared a drink and talked for another half hour. As soon as the lawyer left, Horace phoned Jack Pratt, his attorney at Rankin, Lusk, and told him to come to his estate. It was late, and senior partners at Rankin, Lusk rarely made house calls, but Horace had been one of Pratt’s best clients for years.
As soon as Walter showed Pratt into the library, Horace motioned the lawyer toward the armchair Charles Benedict had recently vacated and handed him a glass of the aged single-malt scotch the attorney favored.
It would be difficult to guess that Jack Pratt was in his mid-sixties. He worked out every day in the firm’s gym with a personal trainer. His suits, which were hand-tailored in London, fit like the proverbial glove, his teeth gleamed, and not a strand of his sleek, expertly dyed black hair was out of place. Pratt