"Miss Clara Thompson is here to see you," Mary announced as Leander Whitlock sat down at his desk.

Leander stared at his maid. What could Thompson's daughter possibly be doing here? Thompson's daughter, he remembered, but she and Darmody considered themselves siblings. Couldn't be a coincidence the girl was here now, after the morning he'd had.

"Show her in," he instructed.

Clara looked around the house as she was shown in. Very Victorian, she thought, and she'd love to take down the velvet curtains and apply white paint throughout. But it was the home of a cultivated and civilized man, she decided, looking at the paintings and books.The lack of horrific decor choices already made him the best of the Yacht Club men in her mind.

"Clara, what an unexpected surprise," he said, taking her hand. "What brings you here?"

"I find myself in need of a lawyer."

What an unexpected answer, Leander thought. What an unexpected morning.

"Your father has attorneys."

Clara smoothed her skirt. "My best interest, my priorities, and my father's don't always align."

He stood and moved to the bar cart. "What's your pleasure?"

"Oh, I..."

"If you are grown-up enough to hire a lawyer, you are grown-up enough to have a drink with him."

She nodded. "Whiskey and water, please." Clara pulled her checkbook from her bag. "How much is the retainer?"

Leander pushed down a laugh at the idea of little Clara Thompson ready to write him a check. "Twenty dollars."

After she finished writing the check she laid it on his desk and accepted the drink.

"Does this mean we have attorney-client privilege?" Clara asked.

"It does. Here's to a prosperous relationship," he said as they clinked glasses.

"Did you know that Jackson Parkhurst was scalped last night?" he asked. Parkhurst wasn't one of the girl's favorites, he knew. He remembered the Easter dinner where Clara looked like she was going attack him across the table.

"I know from my own grandfather how sometimes the elderly can have the most unlikely accidents. It's amazing the damage a fall can do," Clara said levelly, wondering if she was going to have to discuss it with every man in Atlantic City.

"A fall pulled off his scalp?"

Clara looked up at him with large, innocent eyes. "Is that not what happened?"

Leander sighed. "That's what almost everyone will think, yes. After we pay off Jackson's manservant, who has a story about two young men, one with a distinctive face..."

It was slight, but he saw her wince. How interesting.

"We are going to be honest with each other?" he asked, and Clara nodded.

"The relationship between Jimmy and his mother..."

"If Gillian wasn't whispering in his ear I'd sleep better at night," Clara said. "Jimmy is smart, and brave. One day he's going to be a great leader. But he needs good advice, sound advice, and Gillian's own...desires interfere."

"And what are your goals that don't align with your father's?" he asked.

"Well, I want to be successful. On my own. I have a new contract from the Stratemeyer Syndicate for my next books and I thought it would be a good idea to have a lawyer look at it before I signed it. I also think I'll have to file taxes next year, and I'm not sure I'm keeping my records correctly." Clara retrieved her papers from her bag.

Leander looked through them briefly. They were neatly organized, and Clara was making money with her writing, he saw. He should have charged her more.

"Give me two days to look over this. What other goals are you and your father at odds over?"

Clara sighed. "I don't want the people I love destroyed."

"And you love your father, your uncle, James?" he asked.

She nodded.

Whitlock reached for a name but it wouldn't come to him, and there was no way to describe the man that wouldn't insult Clara if his instinct was correct. "And James's friend?"

Clara looked down at her hands."Richard Harrow. Yes."

Dear god. He fought the urge again to laugh. Had Nucky Thompson set out to raise two brilliant, headstrong, impetuous, rebellious children? Thompson raised them to be the Prince and Princess of the Boardwalk, but these two took their cues straight from the royal children of the Medicis.

He absolutely should have asked for a higher retainer.

It was three o'clock when she returned to the Ritz. Clara wanted a nap, and to get in a few hours of writing. Instead, there was a note on her door that just said 'See me.'

Her father was in the drawing room, still in silk robe and pajamas, eating.

"Join me," he instructed. She took grillades and broiled tomatoes. The only thing'd she'd eaten all day was a lobster tail pastry with Uncle Eli, and the mix of stress, exhaustion, and whiskey was taking a toll.

"Feels like when you were in school," he said. "You'd come home, I'd be getting up, we'd eat together." She was well-dressed, he saw. "Where have you been?"

"Errands," she answered simply.

"I hope you weren't able to hear my guests while you were trying to sleep," he continued.

Clara smiled. "I certainly hope none of your guests heard me."

Nucky sighed. "I doubt anyone heard your typewriter, Clara. Is this how its going to be?"

She pushed her food around on her plate. "How would you like it to be?"

"I'd enjoy loyalty and appreciation from my only child."

"I appreciate the brilliance of your gambit with Harry Daugherty."

Nucky's eyes narrowed, "Who told you about that?"

Clara laughed. "Who told me? Dear lord, Father, do you think me an imbecile who can't add two plus two?" Her father continued to glare at her. "What, are you going to lock me in my room for impertinence?"

"You'd be amazed at the places I could lock you, Clara."

Clara forced herself to remain still, not even allowing her hand to smooth her skirt. "I think it's time I make my own life, and move out. I'm almost twenty-three, it's past time really."

"No."

"No?"

"I don't need people thinking I can't control my own daughter."

"Yes, of course. I don't ever want to betray the visuals."

They finished eating in silence. Clara knew she needed to defuse the tension. "Oh, I meant to tell you. Do you remember my friend Romola, from boarding school? You took us to dinner at the Red Fox Inn when you came to visit Middleburg?"

Nucky cast his mind back. Pretty girl, dark haired, he remembered. She had been in a film.

"What about her?"

"She was at Dorothy Grenville's wedding. Romola said you do business with her father?"

Interesting, Nucky thought. "What does her father do?"

"He was a lawyer in Chicago when Romola and I were at school, but now he lives in Cincinnati and is in...your line of work."

"He's a county treasurer?" Nucky answered with a smile, and Clara smiled back.

"Something like that. His name is George Remus?"

"Your school friend is George Remus's daughter?"

Clara nodded. "He left Romola's mother and married again. Romola's stories about her new stepmother make me grateful all over again for Margaret."

"You like Margaret?"

"You know I do."

When Clara rose to go back to her room Nucky reached into his pocket. "Here," he said.

"Thank you," Clara said, "But I don't want your money. But thank you, Father, for lunch and for...all of it." Clara went down her hallway, knowing she had already made her decision.

He watched her walk away, and later opened the door to her hallway, listening to the sound of the typewriter. She writes fast, he thought. At some point he should read something she wrote. Maybe it would help him understand the pretty stranger who shared the eighth floor with him.

Richard hurried back to his room. He was supposed to meet Clara in the alley in less than thirty minutes, and he wanted to clean up a little. As he walked past Mrs. Siddons's house he saw someone was sitting on his small porch. His hand moved to the Glock, but then he saw a straw shoe.

"Clara?"

She smiled up at him. "I missed you. I didn't want to wait. I hope that's okay?"

He helped her to her feet. She wasn't wearing the society girl outfit from earlier, he realized. She'd changed into a skirt and blouse. "Of course."

Even now he was hesitant with her, and his hands couldn't quite decide where to settle.

"Do you know what was going on in my father's suite last night?" Clara asked.

Richard nodded.

She badly wanted to say the next part, but she was anxious. She took a breath."I want to be with you, as much as possible, when we aren't working or busy. But I don't want to be with you at the Ritz, because I don't want all of that near us. So I'm basically inviting myself...here."

"I. Mmm. Yes. But it's not as nice. As your room," he said. The thought of how he could support Clara still haunted him, because how could they have a life together if he couldn't? Although when she stood on his porch in a skirt it was a less daunting thought then when she wore her best clothes.

Clara smiled. "I really don't care, as long as it's just us."

Richard nodded and pulled the key from his pocket, and took Clara's hand to pull her through the door ahead of him. He took one last look to make sure no one was outside before he shut the door behind them and locked it.