The Risk of Failure

May 26, the next day. Tiffany Najbreit’s Mansion.

There are only four of us sitting at the table in Tiffany’s cavernous formal dining room. Tiffany, Claire, Mandy, and me. Mica De Luca wasn’t invited to the conversation today, which says something about the trust that I’ve earned within the Najbreit family. It feels good.

But I’m also aware of how conditional this trust is. If this deal goes south, Father will certainly put Claude Ashworth on all the family blacklists, and I’ll have to start again from square one. I don’t even know what I would do at that point.

“I got word from Bob’s staff that he has a personal trainer over for an hour at four in the afternoon on Saturdays,” Mandy says. “You could show up at his door at five, Tiffany, slip in while he’s sweaty, tired, and ****. I think he’d be quite open to a proposition then.”

Tiffany shifts uncomfortably in her seat.


“The important thing is that you get him to sign the contract,” Mandy continues. “We know he’s not a man of his word, and we need to get this right, so get his signature, whatever it takes. I don’t care what he asks for in bed, we’re going to get that contract signed. You’ve got the contract drawn up, Claire?”

Claire shakes her head.

“No, I don’t,” she says.

“Beg pardon?” Mandy says, tossing her red hair back.

“Claude and I have been looking at other options,” Claire says. “I haven’t had the time to draw up a contract for you. Especially not under circumstances as reprehensible as this one.”

Mandy tilts her head back and looks at Claire with a wrinkled nose, as if she’d just come across some stray sewage in Claire’s chair.

“Claude and you have been looking at other options,” Mandy repeats. “I take it Claude’s been getting a lot done in his hospital room after getting beat up by Eric Simonds, huh?”

“You’d be surprised,” Claire says. “You want to tell them what we’ve gotten done these last few days, Claude?”

“Not too much,” I shrug. “Just, you know, secured two billion dollars in credit for the full deal.”

“That’s ridiculous. Who do you even know that would have that much money? You’re an artist, not a banker.”

“I heard you were in talks with Goldman Sachs recently,” I say. “Something about trying to secure two billion dollars for some project? Sounded complicated to me, lots of finance jargon, and so much money involved, there’s no way me or Claire could have taken advantage of that. After all, I’m just an artist, right?”

Tiffany shoots me a thankful look—she was in the know, but it still must be reassuring, hearing the words directly from my mouth. Mandy simply groans.

“The two of you are idiots. Look, Tiffany’s about to get us this deal for one billion dollars. One. Billion. Less. Than. You’re. Proposing. You see the difference there?”

She raps her knuckles on the table with each word, as if the sonic emphasis weren’t enough on its own.

“The difference that I see is that you want to sell Tiffany’s body for a billion dollars, and I don’t,” I say. “You know what? Since we seem to have differing opinions on this matter, let’s take a vote.”

Mandy sputters.

“Since when did you come to be in charge of this operation? No, we’re not going to take a vote. You don’t like the way things are going down? Fine. Take it up with Father. Have you ever had the chance to talk with him, Claude? No? Because I think you’re going to have a real good time,” she says.

And then she dials Father’s number.

I watch it ring once, twice, and then I hear a familiar voice over the speakerphone, a deep baritone that screams trustworthy to me, even though I know he’s anything but.

“Amanda. I thought you were meeting with the others to figure out Tiffany’s schedule,” my Father says.

“There’s been a complication,” Mandy says, glaring at me. “Claude and Claire went and secured the two billion that I was working on with Goldman. They want to pay the full price.”

“For what reason?” Father asks.

There’s a silence in the room as Mandy looks at Claire, and then Tiffany, and then me. Tiffany looks like she’s going white. How did she ever lie to him the first time?

“We don’t think it’s worth it,” Claire says meekly.

“Is that Claire I hear on the other end as well? Hello, Claire. You’re going to have explain a little more of your reasoning. As it stands, Tiffany will do what I say, unless I can be persuaded otherwise.”

“Yes, Father,” Claire says quietly. “It’s only that… well, Tiffany’s not comfortable with what you’re proposing, and so we thought it better if we could spare her from…”

“Not comfortable?” Father says, the hint of a laugh underlining those two words. “Is that right? Tiffany? Are you not comfortable with what’s been planned?”

Tiffany sits up straight, as if she were suddenly slapped.

“Yes, yes… I mean no, I’m not not comfortable, I’m fine with your plan, Father,” she quickly says, staring at the phone on the table.

Father does laugh then, something warm and rich, and I remember for a second how much I’ve missed him.

“Well, there you have it, from the mouth of the babe herself,” Father says.

I can just imagine the twinkle in his eye as he says those words, and I remember too, now, just how much I don’t miss him.

I take a second to draw a breath and mentally prepare myself.

“There are other reasons that we shouldn’t go through with your plan, Mr. Najbreit,” I say.

“Claude? Is that your voice I hear?”

“Yes sir. I was saying that we shouldn’t make Tiffany sleep with Bob Simonds.”

“Oh, and why would that be?”

“The risk of failure. Look, you’ve spent millions of dollars in cultivating Tiffany’s impeccable image. She’s the good girl, the clean girl, the can-do-nothing-wrong girl, and that reputation has earned her staying power both in cinemas and out of it. She’s good for any marketing ploy you want. Her image, if you consider her long career ahead of her, is easily worth a billion dollars. But if word gets out that she slept with Bob Simonds to further a deal for her Father? All of that goes away,” I say. “You can’t make her do it. You’d lose too much money for yourself.”

“Finally, somebody who speaks the same language as me,” my Father says. He still sounds amused. That’s not a good sign. “But I’m not persuaded, Claude. As you put it yourself, it’s only a risk of failure. Tiffany only loses her image should news of this go public. Now, what are the odds of that happening?”

“They could be quite high, sir. Both Tiffany and Bob are Hollywood celebrities. There’s paparazzi, staff leaks, careless comments to consider, and all of it together adds up to something significant,” I say.

“Well then, that’s why all of you are working today to minimise the risk of that happening. Should you do your job right, I think you’ll find that the chances of word getting out will be quite low. Please don’t disturb me again,” Father says.

With that, he hangs up.

Tiffany slumps down. I reach out an arm to comfort her, and she leans into me.

“Saturday the 30th. Tiffany comes in after the personal trainer leaves. The staff won’t be there to disturb Bob, because he’s probably showering after his workout. We’ll deliver Tiffany there in an anonymous car, make sure no paparazzi follow, and she’ll catch him at his most ****, in a decidedly… erotic situation,” Mandy says. “What do you think?”

“I think you’ve won this one,” Claire says, resigned. “Alright. Let’s take a look at what you have of Bob’s schedule. As Father said, we’d better do this right. Wouldn’t want Tiffany to have to suffer any more than she has to.”

“Do I have to be here for this?” Tiffany asks, her voice faintly choked up.

“Of course you do. You’re the one that’s actually going to be doing this,” Mandy says brusquely. “Now, turning to his calendar…”