Page 58 of Letters From Victor

I stopped pacing and turned to face Lawrence. “Are you telling me to walk away?”

“I’m telling you to go through this with your eyes open.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “You’re not just dealing with a difficult wife and a slow legal system now. Which brings me to my next point…”

“There’s more?”

“Afraid so. With the added scrutiny, particularly when Barbara files for divorce—which will make the papers, I can promise you—you’ll need to distance yourself from your…less-than-reputable operations.”

I stopped pacing. “Which operations?”

Lawrence sighed, long and deep, as if summoning the patience of a saint. “Victor, don’t insult me. You know exactly what I’m talking about. If you’ve got a good lieutenant, now would be the time to start handing him the keys. Don’t just distance yourself. Make a break as wide as the Grand Canyon. Your hands need to be clean enough to hold communion.”

I walked toward the window, peering through the Venetian blinds. Outside, Los Angeles moved at its usual frenetic pace—cars honking, people shouting, life rushing by with urgency. My thoughts drifted to Barbara again—her soft golden curls and how she bit her lip when she was deep in thought. A Montgomery. It made sense now—her elegance, her composure, her drive. But how had I missed something so monumental? And why had she never told me?

Lawrence joined me by the window, his voice breaking through my inner turmoil. “This won’t be easy, but it’s necessary if you want things to go smoothly.” He looked at me over the gold rims of his glasses. With a soft clap on my shoulder, hecontinued. “You came to me because you trust me. I’m giving it to you straight.” He dropped his hand back to his side. “I can help you make this work, but it will require sacrifice and time. If this is truly what you want, I’ll back you all the way.”

I nodded. “Thank you, Larry.”

He shrugged. “What are friends for? But next time, do me a favor and bring me a smaller mountain to climb. You really can pick ‘em.”

The phone line crackled. “Hello?” Barbara’s voice was angelic.

“Hello, Barbara, my darling.”

A soft sigh drifted through the line. “What a pleasant surprise!”

I pinned the receiver between my ear and shoulder as I rocked back in my desk chair and flipped open the paper to the society pages. A photograph of Mrs. Agatha Montgomery commanded the page. She stood matronly and poised even as she held a ceremonial pair of oversized scissors—absurdly large in her dainty, gloved hands—for the ribbon cutting of the new city library.

“Are you busy?” I asked.

“Not especially,” she answered sweetly. “And my day is miles better now that I’m talking to you.”

“Good,” I said, closing the paper and setting it aside. “I wanted to talk to you about something important.”

The pause on her end was almost tangible, like a held breath. “Yes?”

“Do you know the new library on Robertson? The one with the Frank Lloyd Wright design?”

“Yes, I think so,” she said, her voice cautious.

“There’s a lovely piece in today’s paper about the grand opening.”

“Oh?” Her tone shifted, curiosity overriding the tension. “I haven’t seen it.”

“There’s a picture of your mother cutting the ribbon. It’s quite something.”

Silence flooded the line, heavy and awkward. I could almost hear her mind racing, piecing together my intentions. A deep breath rustled on her end, the static making it sound like dry leaves skittering across pavement.

“I didn’t realize you read the society pages,” she said, her tone now guarded.

“I don’t,” I replied. “But sometimes interesting things catch my eye.” I let that hang for a moment. “Barbara, why didn’t you tell me who your family was?”

“Because it doesn’t matter.”

“Barbara—” I started, but she cut me off.

“It doesn’t, Victor. I wanted you to know me for who I am, not for who they are. I’ve lived in the Montgomery family shadow all my life. It was nice to be seen for myself for once.” She was quiet for a fragile moment. “Does this change things?”

“Not in the slightest, darling.” I let out a long sigh. “I just wish you had told me yourself.” I rubbed my temples, the beginning of a headache creeping up my neck to settle behind my eyes. “I’m just trying to understand why you kept it a secret.”

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