Page 123 of At His Beck & Call

I place the folder carefully in front of me, interlinking my fingers over the top of it.

“Look, I don’t want this to get ugly,” James says, spreading his hands out wide against the table. “But Lissa threw down the gauntlet when she didn’t tell me about my son’s cancer diagnosis. I don’t think that shows that she’s of sound mind, and right now, my priority is my son and his care. She’s been paying astronomical sums for his treatment instead of using the policy that I pay good money for.”

“The policy would tie her to you for the duration of the treatment,” I say, opening the folder and reading the details Lissa provided.

“Our son’s wellbeing and health shouldn’t be dependent on whether or not his parents have a good relationship,” James says, sounding infinitely reasonable. He’s a slick SOB, that’s for sure.

“Lissa has a protective order against you,” I say, not looking at him as I glance down at the paperwork. “But there have been multiple violations over the past year. What’s to say that the increased contact with your son won’t force you to cross paths more often? This is a situation that Lissa is trying to avoid for herownwell-being.”

“I understand that,” James concedes, cool as a cucumber. “But Henry would be better off with me. Do you know where she’s living? That’s not a healthy environment for a child who will be recovering from chemotherapy. The doctors have assured me that Henry’s chances are good. But that’s only if he gets the proper care he needs.”

One of his lawyers opens their own folder and is about to slide the proposed settlement agreement over to me when I hold up a hand.

“One moment before we look at your offer, Mr. Davenport,” I say, feeling Noah’s body tighten beside me.

James frowns, glancing between the two of us. “My offer is more than generous. If I have to take this to court, I will, but I would prefer not to drag Lissa through that.”

How fucking thoughtful of you.

“Which property would you be living in with your son during and after his treatment?” I ask, and James’s eyes soften, as if we’re friends. He thinks I’m on his side, and I’m enjoying this way too much.

“My house in Brooklyn. It’s in a safe neighborhood, is well-built and has five bedrooms. Lissa would be allowed to visit any time.”

“It sounds quite nice.”

“It is.”

“And your apartment in New Jersey? Will he be visiting there, too?”

James goes still, his lawyers flicking a glance between themselves, as I sit quietly waiting to see how fast he can dig himself out of the hole he’s created.

James swallows, the first sign I’ve seen of his bravado slipping.

“My apartment in…”

“New Jersey. Yes. You know the one. We’ve found evidence that you’ve been paying the mortgage on it for the better part of six years. The first payment was made the month after you and Mrs. Davenport were married.”

I hand over the documents that Noah pulled from the building's lease, with James’s name clearly visible at the top.

“And would Henry be spending time with the woman who is living there?” I ask, sliding a photograph of James and the woman over to him. They’re standing on the balcony with their tongues down each other’s throats.

“You can understand my need for clarification, Mr. Davenport. After all, it could be tough for a child to be around his dad’s girlfriend, especially during his possibly difficult chemotherapy treatment. Particularly a woman who has been his dad’s girlfriend for the entire time he’s been married.”

James’s cheeks are burning now, his lawyers on either side of him look decidedly surprised at this new bit of information. The two men exchange a weary glance, and I can just imagine what’s going through their minds. If James hasn’t disclosed the apartment, even to them, then he’s in more trouble than I thought. They won’t have a defense for this, and they won’t have taken it into account in their arguments.

You’ve really fucked yourself now, James, haven’t you?

“Now just a minute—” James attempts as he picks up the photograph. “This has been edited. She’s just my tenant.”

“She must be very lucky to have such an attentive landlord,” I say, closing the folder as I pull out the financial declaration with James’s signature at the bottom.

“You signed this, Mr. Davenport, and it doesnotlist the apartment as one of your assets. That is perjury, as I’m sure your lawyers will explain to you. More striking, however, is that you have lived a double life, without your then wife’s knowledge. Hardly a good environment for a young boy to be placed in. Howmany lies have you told Henry about why you couldn’t be home to tuck him in at night? How many school events and ball games have you missed because you were with her?”

James’s mouth is hanging open as he looks at his lawyers, but neither of them meets his eye.

“If we go to court, and you try to get custody of your son, every receipt for money that you’ve spent on your mistress will be laid out for the court to see. Her name will be dragged into this too, and from what we’ve discovered, she doesn’t appear to be aware that you have a wife and child in another state.”

James rises to his feet, his face purple and mottled with rage.