Maybe better than good.

“Warden Wilson. Come down, please.”

“Yes?”

“Send down the lawyers, but don’t go far.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Things are fine,” X said. “But plans are changing.”

When X summoned him back, hours had passed.

“Warden Wilson, if you would join us.”

That from one of the lawyers, a tall, spare man who disappeared back into a cell, leaving the warden no choice but to trail along behind. Inside, X sat at a table lined with rows of documents, the second lawyer across the table, saying things like, Sign here, thank you, now initial here …

X said, “Warden Wilson. Just in time.” He kept his head down, dashing off signatures on trust accounts, transfer documents, letters of incorporation. Numbers seemed to leap from the pages.

Ten million to the Bank of the Caymans.

Forty million to fund a revocable trust.

Two hundred million to Zurich Cantonal Bank.

The warden could barely process the numbers, and there were others, so many others.

X signed a final document, and one lawyer notarized it, adding it to a stack for the other attorney to sign as witness. That done, X held out a hand, saying, “Mr. Preston.”

The attorney handed X a sheaf of papers, and X, in turn, offered them to the warden, who took them numbly. “What you’ll find there,” X said, “is an account at Mellon Bank in New York, established in your name, as well as transfer documents, a notice of verified funds from the transferring bank, and a letter of authorization signed by me, notarized and witnessed. You’ll see that the transfer documents are dated for tomorrow.”

“After your, uh…”

“Yes,” X allowed. “After the scheduled execution.”

Warden Wilson looked down at the documents, but words swam on the page. He tried again, but only one thing sprang into focus. “This is for twice the amount we discussed.”

“Because I’m changing the terms of our arrangement. The numbers should reflect that.”

Papers trembled in the warden’s hand. “What changes?”

X smiled, but it was thin as a dime. “Gentlemen, a moment.”

The lawyers rose, and left. When they were alone, X put a hand on the warden’s shoulder in a manner so unexpected and intimate, it was absolutely terrifying. “I need something more from you,” he said. “Something I never expected to ask for or want.” X laid it out for the warden. What he wanted. When it should happen. He spoke slowly for the warden’s sake, and repeated it twice. “I’ll leave the how of it to you.”

The warden stared dumbly. “The how of it?”

“Shall we go through it again?”

“No. No.” The warden shook his head. Nausea. Cold sweat. “I’m not sure I can manage that.”

“I’m giving you forty million dollars.” X squeezed the shoulder until it hurt. “Of course you can.”

“But tomorrow … I mean … the timing.”