Chapter 183

Claire and Willow kept Max Fowler naked in the same isolated farmhouse where they’d housed the other three traitors. Once the Midazolam had worn off, once he was fully cognizant of his surroundings, Fowler seemed almost resigned to his fate.

He had gone through a recovery phase from the drug — agitation, uncontrollable shaking of the body, and severe jerking of his arms and legs. Some subjects become hyper-aggressive, but Fowler sensed his helplessness and remained relatively calm.

Claire and Willow watched impassively as coughing fits turned into hiccuping, as nausea induced projectile vomiting. Doctor Ransome made sure his shallow breathing didn’t slow dangerously, didn’t stop long enough to cause brain damage.

Claire wanted him physically and mentally healthy enough to answer all of her questions.

He tried, half-heartedly, to talk his way into some compromise that would allow him to live. “I have quite a bit of money stashed in the Caymans, Claire. You’re a businesswoman, a professional.”

Willow used both hands to squeeze his balls until he screamed in agony.

Claire shook her head sadly, “Max, Max, Max. You know better than that. You’re a dead man. But first you’re going to give me that offshore money, your Buckhead house, your strip clubs. And anything else I find.”

Max sighed.

“There is one bargaining chip you have. If you cooperate — and by that I mean I want all of Brady’s assets. And Horton’s. And Gleason’s. And if you tell my why you wanted Four Corners ... if you do all that, and I’m satisfied that you’re telling the truth, then I won’t turn you over to Willow.”

Willow, “God, I hope you lie.”

Claire was quietly furious. She had no intention of letting Fowler off that easily. Yes, he was a dead man, but she’d allow Willow to enjoy him as long as she wanted. A gangster like Teeny Delgado was one thing. But a respected businessman like Fowler, a supposedly-friendly partner with whom she she shared whores?

Fuck him.