It would be paid through her personal family office under a separate agreement covering Malcolm's time, approved public appearances, image rights, and advisory work related to her personal public profile. Because her marriage could create governance questions, the existence of the arrangement would be disclosed to Nexora's legal department and independent directors. Malcolm frowned. So, nobody can claim you hid it. That is the idea.
And if someone leaks it, Evelyn's expression tightened. Then it becomes embarrassing, not automatically illegal. Malcolm flipped another page. Who wrote this? Adrienne Beckett, Nexora's general counsel, coordinated the corporate disclosure.
My personal attorney drafted the agreement. She added that Malcolm would speak with his own independent lawyer before signing. Adrien represents Nexora. My attorney represents me. Neither represents you."
That answer increased Malcolm's trust by a fraction. He still disliked everything about the arrangement. The proposal was simple in concept and complicated everywhere else. They would legally marry for 7 months. Malcolm would attend a limited number of public functions, participate in agreed interviews, and appear with Evelyn when necessary to support the truth that they were married.
He would not be required to discuss Nexora's finances, lie about business matters, or allow anyone access to Norah without his permission. At the end of 7 months, after the shareholder meeting, they could separate quietly. Malcolm looked toward the living room where Norah laughed at something on television. $38,500. He could stop the immediate mortgage action.
He could pay the bills that had turned every morning into arithmetic. He could create enough room to breathe. His late wife had spent the last months of her life apologizing for medical bills she had not chosen. Malcolm had told her again and again that money did not matter. After she died, he discovered how cruel that sentence could sound when money decided where a child slept.
He looked at Evelyn. 7 months. 7 months. My daughter stays out of your campaign. No school pictures, no interviews, no staged family nonsense with her unless I say yes.
Agreed. If something threatens her privacy, I walk. We put that in writing and I get my own lawyer. Already arranged. Malcolm closed the folder.
Then I'll listen. The next two hours moved with frightening speed. Darlene Price, a retired postal worker across the hall who had known Nora since she was a toddler, agreed to watch her after Malcolm claimed an emergency job matter had come up. Darlene looked past him through the hallway window at the black luxury sedan idling below and raised one eyebrow. That must be one serious shift.
Malcolm kissed Nora goodbye before Darlene could ask more. In the car, Evelyn had changed into a charcoal suit delivered by an assistant. Malcolm's flannel sat folded carefully in a paper bag beside her. Seeing her restored to the woman from magazine covers unsettled him. The exhausted stranger in his kitchen seemed to have vanished beneath tailored wool and perfect posture.
Nexora's headquarters rose downtown in steel and glass. Adrienne Beckett met them in a private conference room alongside a lawyer named Laura Benton, whom Malcolm had never met, and who immediately made clear that she represented him alone for purposes of reviewing the agreement. Laura went through payment terms, termination provisions, privacy language, and every clause involving Norah. Malcolm asked questions until he understood enough to know what he was signing. Adrienne explained that Nexora itself would pay Malcolm nothing.