POV: Julian Cross
The prenuptial agreement was unusual because Julian had written it to be favorable to Iris.
His attorney, David Kross, had flagged this immediately upon reviewing the first draft. "You're giving her a considerable exit package," David said, his voice carrying the tone of someone questioning whether his client had suffered a recent head injury. "If she leaves after one year, she walks away with six million. That's extraordinary generous for someone you've known for a week."
"That's the point," Julian replied.
They were in Julian's private office, a space on the forty-fifth floor that had been soundproofed and swept for surveillance equipment twice weekly. David laid out the document across the mahogany desk, his reading glasses perched on a face that had spent twenty years representing Manhattan's wealthy and had grown accustomed to their particular forms of irrational decision-making.
"Walk me through the logic," David said.
