“Talia. For a while, she was a convenience. Then times changed, and I thought it was best to cut out anything that smacks of sexual harassment. Now she’s just an employee. A good one, but that’s all.”

“How did she feel about the change?”

“Probably she didn’t like it. I don’t really care. Business first.”

“What about your prostitutes?”

“We call them ‘sex workers.’ I pay for everything.”

“You pay for your own women?”

“Yep. I technically pay myself, but the workers also get their cut and their tips. Are you hungry? I’ve got stacks of protein shakes in the fridge.”

“Thank you. I’m okay for right now.”

“I hope you’re not a vegan like your daughter.”

“Vegetarian. What’s wrong with being a vegan?”

“It’s a pain in the ass. I finally found someone who can cook Indian.”

“Who’s that?”

“One of my sex workers.”

“You have a prostitute cooking for my daughter?”

His eyes narrowed. “Stop being so damn judgmental. You were down-and-out once. Have a little compassion.”

I sighed. In reality, I was once nothing more than a prostitute, except it was to just one man. When I graduated medical school, I put all the dependence behind me—or so I thought. Here I was, once again, in the same situation I had been in twenty-two years ago. “You’re absolutely right. I’m sure she’s a good cook.”

He said, “Your daughter says she makes great samosas and curries.”

“Great,” I said. “She can cook for me as well once I can open my mouth.”

“You’re going to need meat to get your weight and strength back.”

“It’s a moot point. Unless you’re planning on giving me a meat shake.”

“Yum.” He smiled. “C’mon. You need your rest.”

As he led me through his space, I notice a steel door that looked like it belonged in a bank. “What’s this?”

“My vault.” A pause. “Want to see it?”

“Another time.”

“Tired?”

“A little. It’s freezing in here.”

“I work at night. The temperature keeps me from falling asleep. C’mon, let’s get you some rest.”

His bedroom was enormous. The plus was that it had natural light coming in through a window that framed the mountainside. I could tell the glass was bulletproof because the thickness made the outside look a little smeary. The walls were painted bright white and were bare except for a drawing hanging over a chest of drawers opposite the bed. The serene look on my face spoke to happier times.

“When did you do that?” I whispered.

“Right after you left me. Notice it’s pen and ink.”

“Right. I’m surprised you didn’t throw darts at it.”

“Why ruin a perfect drawing?”

I sighed. “It’s lovely.”

“Like the subject.”

Saith the prince of darkness. “Thank you. It’s better looking at that than looking in the mirror.”