“Do you mind if I ask a few more questions? Once I have the lay of the land, I promise to focus solely on what you’re saying and what you mean, so that you feel understood at such a level that you can think of no one better suited to the task of gatekeeping your secrets than me.” My sincerity disarms her ever so briefly. “You may begin,” she says as she takes a bite of her salad. “If I'm to publish this book after you have passed, what sort of financial gain do you envision?” “For me or for you?” “Let’s start with you.” “None for me. Remember, I'll be dead.” “You've mentioned that.” “Next question.” I lean in conspiratorially. “I hate to pose something so vulgar, but what kind of timeline do you intend? Am I to hold on to this book for years until you...” “Die?” “Well... yes,” I say. “Next question.” “What?” “Next question, please.” “You didn’t answer that one.” Evelyn is silent. “All right, then, what kind of financial gain is there for me?” “A much more interesting question, and I have been wondering why it took you so long to ask.” “Well, I’ve asked it.” “You and I will meet over the next however many days it takes, and I will tell you absolutely everything. And then our relationship will be over, and you will be free—or perhaps I should say bound—to write it into a book and sell it to the highest bidder. And I do mean highest. I insist that you be ruthless in your negotiating, Monique. Make them pay