Mr. Goldberg was waiting for me outside Jared’s office building—as always, on his phone, checking the latest developments in his small legal empire. He was wearing his body armor: a dark blue Gieves & Hawkes bespoke suit and a red silk tie by Dege & Skinner with a washed red snail design. He had a white custom-made shirt from the same shop. This fact wasn’t supposed to be known by outsiders, as one of the oldest tailors on The Row kept their client list confidential. “Easy does it” was Mr. Goldberg’s motto, and the snails were a reminder of it. He knew his threads well, and I respected him for that even more than for his outstanding legal skills and knowledge.
I had expected his attire and wanted to match his style with a look from The Row myself—somewhat contemporary and sleek British style. I wore my trusted Richard James double-breasted grey suit with a pale blue cotton shirt. No tie. My feet were guarded by a pair of chukka boots in suede from the same shop. I was ready to sign the deal and start the project.
The last time we had seen each other had been at the funeral, and, outside the family, he was the first person I notified of my intention to sell the house. I didn’t think he was happy about that, but he was a professional and I was the owner and his client. The client was always right.
“Ready?” he asked, putting down his phone and shaking my hand.
“Let’s get it over with.”
When we went in, we were greeted by Jared’s assistant, an attractive young woman in black pants and a tight white blouse that complemented her upper torso rather nicely, who was waiting for us in the hall.
“The team is upstairs. Mr. Shannon might join us today as well,” she said.
Mr. Goldberg and I looked at each other. It wasn’t planned but wasn’t unexpected either. We had discussed the probability of that on the phone the day before, along with the content of the agreement we were supposed to sign today.
“It’s an honor to finally meet him,” he said to the assistant.
I don’t think he really felt that way, but he was a polite man and had to say something.
“Right this way,” she said, showing us to the elevator.
Once again, we found ourselves in the meeting room with the same long table and some delicious looking hors d'oeuvres and a variety of beverages. I didn’t remember this abundance at our last meeting, but it was nice to see this sort of hospitality. Someone obviously wanted to keep us fed and happy while finalizing the deal. I would rather see an ice bucket with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and, perhaps, some Beluga Caviar.
The team was ready indeed. Half a dozen men and women, mostly in their thirties, with their laptops and serious faces were waiting for us in the room. We shook hands with everyone. They were all wearing smart casual outfits and the pair of us looked a bit overdressed and much older.
“Shall we get this show on the road then?” I said with a smile, rubbed my hands and sat down at the table.
The contract and the transfer deed were ready on the table to be reviewed and signed. I noticed that there were Montblanc Rollerball pens next to Mr. Goldberg’s and my copies. My father liked those. Being one of the old-school pen lovers, he preferred fountain pens though. I picked it up and looked at the assistant.
“A small gift from Mr. Shannon,” she said with a smile.
I nodded and looked at Mr. Goldberg. He was happy with it. We both were.
“Shall we sign now, or should we wait for Mr. Shannon?” I asked, unscrewing my new pen’s cap.
“Mr. Ford here,” she pointed at a man in blue jeans and a lighter blue blazer over a black T-shirt with a tiger print on it. “He will sign the contract on behalf of the company, but you can sign it first,” she said.
So we did. No fuss. It took a minute. The deal was half done. Then Mr. Tiger-on-my-T-shirt signed his copies.
“The keys will only be handed to the buyer once the paperwork and money transfer have been completed, which will take a few weeks,” the assistant stated, collecting their copies of the documents. “Mr. Shannon, however, is willing to wait for a month or more to give you sufficient time to relocate your belongings.”
“That’s very generous of him,” I said, putting away my new Montblanc.
“Congratulations on the sell, Mr. Montague,” she said, smiling. “I’m sorry that Mr. Shannon couldn’t be here. I just got a message from him. He was held in a different meeting, but he sends his regards.”
“Well, he’s a busy man,” I said, smiling back. I didn’t really care about Jared’s presence. I had what I wanted, and it seemed that he had what he wanted. We didn’t have to be in the same room to share our experiences.
I stood up and noticed a CCTV camera on the ceiling with the red light on. Were we being watched?
***
It was almost lunchtime when we stepped out of the building. I put on my Louis Vuitton sunglasses to shield my eyes from the bright June sun.
“Do you want to grab lunch?” I asked Mr. Goldberg.
“Sure,” he said, slipping on his Ray-Ban Aviators, which gave him the look of a spy. “You’re paying, aren’t you?” He flashed a greedy smile, baring his white teeth.
I nodded.
“In that case, let’s go someplace fancy and celebrate the deal.” He patted me on the shoulder.
“Absolutely. You pick, and I’ll pay.”
“Deal.”
As we were about to cross the street to reach Mr. Goldberg’s car, I noticed a car exiting the underground parking lot of the building we had just left. It was a mineral white BMW 8 Series Coupé—a sleek, luxurious vehicle perfect for someone who enjoyed speed and style. Natasha happened to own one just like it.