Shadowfires

money.”
    “I wonder,” he said acidly and irrationally. His bold-featured
face wasn't handsome at the moment. Anger had carved it into an ugly mask-all hard, deep, down-slashing lines.
    Rachael spoke calmly, with no trace of bitterness, with no desire
to put him in his place or to hurt him in any way. It was just over.
She felt no rage. Only mild regret. “And now that
it's finally over, I don't expect to be supported in high style and
great luxury for the rest of my days. I
don't want your millions. You earned them, not me. Your genius, your iron determination, your endless hours in the office and the lab. You built it all, you and you alone, and you alone deserve what you've
built.
You're an important man, maybe even a great man in your field, Eric, and I am only me, Rachael, and I'm
not going to pretend I had anything to do with your triumphs.”
    The lines of anger in his face deepened as she complimented him.
He was accustomed to occupying the dominant role in all
relationships, professional and private. From his position of
absolute dominance, he relentlessly forced submission to his wishes-
or crushed anyone who would not submit. Friends, employees, and
business associates always did things Eric Leben's way, or they were history. Submit or be rejected and Destroyed-those were their only choices. He enjoyed the exercise of power, thrived on conquests as major as million-dollar deals and as minor as winning domestic arguments. Rachael had done as he wished for seven years, but she would not submit any longer.
    The funny thing was that, by her docility and reasonableness, she
had robbed him of the power on which he thrived. He had been looking
forward to a protracted battle over the division of spoils, and she
had walked away from it. He relished the prospect of acrimonious
squabbling over alimony payments, but she thwarted him by rejecting
all such assistance. He had pleasurably anticipated a court fight in
which he would make her look like a gold-digging bitch and reduce
her, at last, to a creature without dignity who would be willing to
settle for far less than was her due. Then, although leaving her
rich, he would have felt that the war had been won and he had beaten
her into submission. But when she made it clear that his millions
were of no importance to her, she had eliminated the one power he
still had over her. She had cut him off at the knees, and his anger
arose from his realization that, by her docility, she had somehow
made herself his equal-if not his superior-in any further contact
they might have.
    She said, “Well, the way I see it,
I've lost seven years, and all I want is reasonable compensation for that time. I'm
twenty-nine, almost thirty, and in a way,
I'm just beginning my life. Starting out later than other people. This settlement will give me a terrific start. If I lose the bundle, if someday I have reason to wish I'd
gone for the whole thirteen million… well, then
that's my tough luck, not yours. We've been through all this, Eric.
It's finished.”
    She stepped around him, trying to walk away, but he grabbed her
arm, halting her.
    “Please let me go,” she said evenly.
    Glaring at her, he said, “How could I have been so wrong about
you? I thought you were sweet, a bit shy, an unworldly little fluff
of a girl. But you're a nasty little ball-buster, aren't you?”
    “Really, this is an absolutely crazy attitude. And this crude
behavior isn't worthy of you. Now let me go.”
    He gripped her even tighter. “Or is this all just a negotiating
ploy? Huh? When the papers are drawn up, when we come back to sign
everything on Friday, will you suddenly have a change of heart? Will
you want more?”
    “No, I'm not playing any games.”
    His grin was tight and mean. “I'll bet that's it. If we agree to
such a ridiculously low settlement and draw up the papers,
you'll refuse to sign them, but you'll use them in court to try to
prove we were going to give you the shaft.
You'll pretend the offer was ours and that we tried to strong-arm you into signing it. Make me look bad. Make me look as if I'm
a real hard-hearted bastard. Huh? Is that the strategy? Is that the
game?”
    “I told you, there's no game. I'm sincere.”
    He dug his fingers into her upper arm. “The truth, Rachael.”
    “Stop it.”
    “Is that the strategy?”
    “You're hurting me.”
    “And while you're at it, why don't you tell me all about Ben
Shadway, too?”
    She blinked in surprise, for she had