He took the ten-year offer.
Disgraced, humiliated, convicted, banished to a prison like a common criminal, he went away. Two months after he began serving his time, the first installment of the tobacco money landed in a foreign bank account Old Stu was guarding. Its arrival softened the harshness of prison and gave new meaning to his life.
（24）
It is three days after her trip to the prison. Diantha sits in a deep, well-worn leather chair with her stocking feet resting comfortably on a low, padded ottoman. The chair and the ottoman are expensive, as is everything else in the office. She appreciates the fine things because she’s certainly paid for them. Mimi is now at $250 an hour, certainly less than what Diantha bills, but on the high side for therapists in the Midwest. When they met fifteen years earlier, they were beginning their careers and their rates were much lower. They have grown up together, succeeded in their careers, and could almost be close friends but for the fact that Mimi is the therapist and Diantha is the patient. Years earlier they decided it was more important to stick with the professional relationship than to jettison it and become pals.
Mimi is saying, “I didn’t like the idea of you going to prison to see him.”
“I know. We had that discussion. I went.”
Mimi sits in her chair, a modern funky executive swivel with wheels, and she likes to roll around on the birch floor. They talk slowly and softly and seldom make eye contact once the session starts, once the initial pleasantries are dispensed with.
“And how did you feel when you saw him? What was your first thought?”
“There were so many.”
“No, there was only one first thought.”
“Oddly enough, I was struck by how good he looks. He’s seventy-one, been locked up for five years, but he’s trim, tanned, in shape. Then I felt guilty for dwelling on his looks.”
“Nothing wrong with that. You once found him attractive and the feelings were mutual.”
“Yes, and then I asked myself how I could’ve slept with this old guy for so long. He was married, everybody knew what we were doing. Why did I do it?”
“We’ve spent the last fifteen years talking about that, Diantha.”
“Yes, we have, and I still can’t believe it.”
“We can’t go back there, Diantha, or change what happened. We’ve moved on. That’s the reason I advised you not to go. Seeing Bolton again brought back memories and issues that you have confronted and vanquished. Now I worry that in many ways we’ll have to start over.”
“No, I’m okay, Mimi. I had my reasons for going. I wanted to see the great man in prison, dressed like an inmate, moved around in handcuffs, the works. I wanted to see him humiliated, stripped of all his assets and titles and trial lawyer glories. And for that reason it was worth the trip. I won’t do it again, but I’m glad I went.”
“He’s not exactly broke, from what you’ve said.”
“Oh no. Bolton is getting money these days from some old settlements. That brings up another issue.”
“And it is?”
“Compensation. Bolton owes me for what he did. He took advantage of a naive young lady who worked for him. I felt trapped and thought there was no way to say no. It was never entirely consensual.”
“Please, Diantha. You’re reverting and that’s dangerous.”
Diantha says, “I’ve made my decision, Mimi. I made it driving home from the prison. Bolton owes me, and it’s time to collect.”
（25）
Neither partner could remember the last attempt at a private meeting. They had worked so hard to avoid one. At the moment, though, the issue was too critical to dump on Diantha’s desk and hope for the best. The dumping had become routine and both partners were ashamed of it, though neither would dare admit this. And neither had the spine to stop it.
An agreement as to time and place took almost a week to iron out. They agreed initially that they would not meet in the office, but after that simple matter was locked up everything else became complicated. Kirk suggested a private room at one of his country clubs, but Rusty despised all of them and all of the members as well.
“What do you want, a strip club?” Kirk had retorted in an email.
Since both loathed the sound of the other’s voice, they avoided phones.
“Not a bad idea,” Rusty wrote back, hours later.
For several reasons, they did not want to be seen together.
Eventually they agreed to meet in a hotel suite in Columbia, two hours away. Of course they drove separate cars and traveled alone.