Page 60 of The Oligarch's Daughter

“Well, it’s good news, really, but I need some advice. I’m marrying a woman named Tatyana Galkin.” He paused, waiting for a grunt of recognition or at least congratulations, but none came. “Her father wants me to sign a prenup.” He looked back at Galkin’s office, saw Arkady deep in conversation with Dowling.

“Okay,” Brad said. “Is she related to Arkady Galkin?”

“His daughter, right.”

“One of those Russian oligarchs. So his lawyer is Bill Dowling, probably.”

“Right.”

“Tiny firm, but they do most of the high-net-worth divorces in Manhattan. Dowling’s good. Anyway, email it to me, and I’ll try to take a look at it this morning. Don’t sign anything until I give you a call.”

“Okay. Thanks, Brad.” He pressed the End button and returned to Galkin’s office.

“Can you email me a copy?” Paul said to the lawyer.

“Of course.”

Paul gave Dowling his email address, then said, “Let’s take a look.” He opened the blue folder. The document was eighty-five pages long. On the first page, it read:

PRENUPTIAL AGREEMENT

THIS AGREEMENT is made this ___ day of ____ . . . by and between Paul A. Brightman of New York, New York, and Tatyana Arkadiyevna Galkina of New York, New York . . .

He skimmed the document at high speed. Eighty-five pages of fairly dense prose, written in high legalese (Each party shall, upon the request of the other, execute, acknowledge and deliver any instruments that may be reasonably required to carry the intention of this Agreement into effect, including written consents to the election by the other of them to waive any qualified joint or survivor annuity . .. ) with Galkin and his lawyer breathing down his neck.

The basic point seemed to be:What’s mine is mine—when we got married—and what’s yours is yours. That seemed fair to him. Though he wasn’t going to admit it.

One page stated the couple’s assets. Tatyana had less than Paul had expected. There was a trust fund, worth a few million dollars. Then he came upon this sentence: “She is the beneficiary of substantial trusts significantly in excess of two hundred million dollars.”

There was a place where Paul was supposed to state his assets. That was easy. He had some money saved up in a retirement account and a decent chunk of money invested. Less than Tatyana had. A lot less.

This felt to Paul like one of those hinge moments in your life, that this decision would have enormous repercussions, whichever way he went. Well, he’d known Tatyana was wealthy, by virtue of her being Arkady Galkin’s daughter, but he wasn’t interested in her wealth. If he signed this contract, and if he and Tatyana were later to divorce, he wouldn’t see a penny. That seemed fair to him. Let her see that he was marrying her forher, not for her father’s money.

“These are pretty tough terms,” he said to Galkin, who smiled.

“Only if you get divorced.”

“Well, let me ask you something. Would you have signed such an agreement before your first marriage?

Galkin shrugged. “I would never sign such a thing.”

Paul laughed.

“But you are in different situation,” Galkin went on. “My advice to you: don’t get divorced.”

38

The toilet was clogged again.

Paul arrived home, kissed Tatyana, and grabbed the plunger.

She was at the kitchen table working on her laptop, editing photos, and vaping. “Thank you,” she said. She closed her laptop. Took a puff off her vape pen.

“What’s wrong? You’re vaping.”

“Papa told me his lawyer gave you a prenup to sign today.”

“He did.”

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