Damon found Maya in her private backstage dressing room, Toby asleep on the small couch, a blanket pulled up to his chin. The heavy soundproof door clicked shut behind Damon.
He held a thick document in his trembling hand. “We need to talk, Maya.”
He laid the paper on the small vanity table. It was a binding settlement.
“Sign this,” Damon said, his voice strained, “and I’ll withdraw the welfare petition. Your $180,000 account will be unfrozen. Tonight.”
Maya scanned the document. It stipulated she would sign away 50% of her gross touring revenue for the next ten years to Damon.
She looked at her brother’s face, etched with a raw fear she’d never seen before. His hands shook as he pushed the papers closer.
Roman Torrez. That was it. Damon was using Toby as a shield.
“Fifty percent?” Maya asked, trying to keep her voice even. “For a decade?”
“It’s fair,” Damon insisted, his eyes darting to the door. “It’s the only way, Maya. For Toby.”
Maya picked up the pen, pretending to read the clauses. “I need to consult Evelyn. Just two hours.”
Damon hesitated, then nodded, his shoulders slumping in relief. “Two hours. Don’t waste them.”
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