“Tristan,” he said casually, picking up the wine glass. “Before we continue, ask Mr. Weiss to repeat his position on the profit split. I want to make sure I understood correctly.” Tristan maintained the smile. “Of course, Mr. Thornycroft.” He turned to Conrad and spoke in German.
In the corridor behind the kitchen door, Margot was on her feet again. She had lifted herself from the cold floor, smoothed the apron, and walked to the gap in the door that opened onto the dining room. From there, she could hear table twelve with enough clarity for every syllable to arrive intact. And what Tristan had said in German was not what Declan asked. Declan asked Conrad to repeat his position on the profit split. Tristan asked whether Conrad was satisfied with the contract. They were completely different questions. One sought transparency. The other induced agreement.
Conrad responded with the direct honesty that Margot already recognized as his signature. “As I already said, the profit split in the contract deviates from our original agreement. Fifty-fifty was the basis. The contract states sixty-forty.” Margot held her breath. Conrad was repeating exactly what he had said before. It was the second time he had raised the issue, and now Tristan would have to translate in front of a Declan who already knew the truth.
Tristan turned to Declan with the ease of someone who had done this dozens of times without consequence. “Mr. Weiss confirms he’s comfortable with the financial terms. Said the split is adequate.” Declan did not move a single muscle in his face, but Margot saw, even from a distance, something change in his eyes. A hardness that had not been there before. The kind of coldness that men like him developed not from cruelty, but from necessity, when they discovered that someone they trusted was using that trust as a weapon of betrayal.
“Interesting,” said Declan, and the word came out so neutral it could mean anything. “And the jurisdiction clause, what does he think?” Tristan did not hesitate. He turned to Conrad and asked something in German that Margot caught instantly. “Herr Weiss, are you ready to sign the contract now?” Margot felt her nails dig into her palms. Tristan had not asked about jurisdiction. He had asked if Conrad was ready to sign. He was steering the entire conversation toward a signature that would benefit someone, and Margot was beginning to understand that someone might not be Declan.
Conrad frowned. “Sign? No, not yet. I’m still waiting for a response about the clauses I raised, especially the arbitration clause.” Tristan listened, and for the first time, Margot noticed something different in his face. A fraction of a second where the smile faltered. A blink longer than normal. The micro-expression of someone who senses the script is beginning to slip out of control. But he recovered quickly. “He’s eager to close. Asked if we can expedite the signing tonight.”
Declan placed the wine glass on the table with excessive care. The kind of care that comes when the hands want to do something very different from what they are doing. “Tristan,” he said, and now his voice was different. Lower. Slower. “I’m going to do something I’ve never done in a negotiation.” Tristan tilted his head. “Of course, sir. Whatever you need.” “I’m going to ask the waitress who served us tonight to come to the table.”