...And that, friends, is why you don't let on any of your weaknesses to a businessman.

If Tenenbaum's mouth thins any further her lips are just plain going to fuse together, but still, she manages to look even colder as Sinclair's proposition comes out. It feels like bribery, rather than a bargain. It's Jack's history as much as hers, and she's pretty sure he should have a say in when and where it gets discussed. Now that he's god willing no longer actively working against her girls, it seems extra important to regard his wishes.

But, at the same time.

Food is a problem. Some people might be able to survive on cake bars from trash cans, but the girls need better than that, and in greater quantities than she's been able to provide. Some of the older ones don't say it, but they're all hungry. She's hungry. Her last square meal was before she went into hiding.

The coldness in her face is uncertain. Her eyes go to the side -- she's thinking it over.

It's the girls against Jack, in a way.

But not really. It's the girls' health, against information that Sinclair has proven he already knows. The girls' health and her own -- her face is a lot gaunter than it was a year ago. Her girls will have no-one if she starves to death. And also, y'know, there's kind of an inherent appeal in not starving, let's not get all Gandhi about this.

Is this another devil's deal or is it an opportunity? She's definitely leaning towards the latter.

In the end, the biggest question is really whether Sinclair intends to deliver.

At last she asks, slowly: "And how do I know you will remember your side of the bargain?"