I know Vinca pretty well and I kind of like her, even though my son is in love with her and it’s breaking his heart. She is in the drama club and she’s one of my most gifted students, simultaneously cerebral and sensual with a crazy streak that makes her more endearing. She is sophisticated, artistic, accomplished. She’s played me some of the songs she has been writing, graceful melodies that have the mystical beauty of P. J. Harvey and Leonard Cohen.

“Seventy-five thousand francs?”

She hands me a plain brown envelope and, without waiting to be asked, slumps into the chair opposite. I open the envelope and look at the pictures. I am surprised without being surprised. I am certainly not hurt, because every decision I make has been influenced by a single precept: Never allow yourself to be vulnerable. And that is my strength.

“You don’t look too good, Vinca,” I say, handing back the envelope.

“You’re the one who won’t look too good when the parents’ committee sees these photos of your sleazy husband.”

I can see that she is shivering. She looks feverish, agitated, and exhausted.

“Why did you say another seventy-five thousand francs? Has Richard already given you money?”

“He gave me a hundred thousand francs, but it’s not enough.”

Richard’s family has never had a penny. All the money in our family is mine, inherited from my adoptive father, Roberto Orsini, who earned it working with his bare hands, building houses and villas along the Mediterranean coast.

“I don’t have that kind of money on me, Vinca.”

I’m playing for time, but she is not about to be browbeaten.

“I don’t care what you have to do. I want the cash by Sunday night.”

I can tell that she’s both disoriented and out of control. Probably under the influence of a mixture of alcohol and medication.

“You won’t get money out of me,” I snap. “I can’t stand blackmailers. Richard was an idiot to pay you.”

“Fine—you asked for it!” Vinca says, then stalks out and slams the door.

*  *  *

I sit behind my desk for a moment. I think about my son, so madly in love with this girl that he’s about to fuck up his education. I think about Richard, who thinks only with his prick. I think about the family I have to protect. And I think about Vinca.

I spend a long time thinking, then I go out into the darkness and trudge through the snow to the Nicolas de Staël building. I have to try to reason with her. When she opens the door, she assumes I’ve come to give her the money.

“Listen, Vinca. You’re not well. I’d like to try and help you. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong. Why do you need all this money?”