Chapter Thirty-One
Nate
I woke to the kind of headache that came from too little sleep and too much thinking.
The kitchen was quiet when I made it downstairs.
Someone had left a fresh pot of coffee, still warm, still mostly full.
Collins had texted me that Jo was already in the lab and that she’d said something about having an idea that couldn’t wait for me to wake.
I told him he’d done the right thing. So there I was in the kitchen alone, pouring myself a cup of coffee and grabbing my laptop.
By the time I’d drained my first mug, I had three secure windows open, Andre’s files loaded, and Roy Ashby’s entire professional life staring back at me in unredacted PDFs.
I didn’t ask Andre how he did what he did and that was probably why he continued to work with me. He could get the kind of information legal channels couldn’t. For the umpteenth time, I was glad he was on my side.
I scrolled through another classified summary, reading between the lines of what they didn’t say.
Project names changing mid-stream. Lead researchers listed as “unknown” or removed in later versions.
Patents first filed by small independent labs that were then “acquired” by shell companies, only to reappear years later with different inventors and slightly altered parameters.
Anyone not looking for it would have missed the pattern.
But Andre had flagged the connective tissue.
A propulsion patent here. A long-life energy storage trial there. A systems integration paper that mysteriously lost half its references before publication.
And, over and over, one name showing up in early drafts and vanishing in the final ones: Roy Ashby.
“Damn,” I muttered. “He doesn’t get credit for anything he does.”
Footsteps sounded in the hall, heavy and sure. I didn’t bother closing the laptop.
Andre stepped into the kitchen and went straight for the coffee. “Morning, Keaton.”
“Morning.” My voice came out rougher than I intended.
He poured a mug, then glanced at me. “You look like shit.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
He took a sip and circled to the other side of the table, eyes flicking over the screen without being obvious about it. Years of training—gather information, don’t crowd the client.
I nodded toward my screen. “This isn’t some unknown engineer who got sloppy and pissed off the wrong people. This is someone who’s been watched and manipulated for a while.”
Andre set his mug down and leaned against the counter. “By some powerful people.”
“He shouldn’t be in prison.” I scrolled to a document he’d flagged.
“Early prototypes of clean propulsion systems, years ahead of where the industry was. Then the funding dries up, the lab shuts down, and”—I clicked forward—“a Raymean subsidiary picks up a strikingly similar project. No mention of Ashby, but the math matches his old work. Line for line.”
Andre nodded. “They’ve been feeding off him for a long time.”
“Yeah.” My jaw clenched. “And they finally got him working in-house. They probably thought they could control him, but when he didn’t roll over, they started playing hard ball and locked him up.”
“They believe he was hiding something worth more than the motorcycle he designed for them.”
I met his gaze. “What do you think?”
His mouth curled in a knowing smile. “That if you’re not careful you’re going to get yourself killed over this.”
“I’m not worried about that.”
“You should be.”
“You almost sound concerned.”
He shrugged. “Dead clients don’t pay.”
I nodded. I’d come here to handle an inheritance. To close a chapter of my uncle’s life with clean lines and signatures. To tie up loose ends. Check boxes. Walk away.
Instead, I was in a farmhouse kitchen contemplating corporate theft, corrupted justice, and the possibility that the woman I’d half-convinced myself was a mistake might be the person reshaping the future.
Andre watched me with that assessing look he used when calculating risk. “She’s not worth it.”
I frowned and stood. “It’s not just about her.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You could lose everything. Digging into Raymean. Poking whoever did this to her father. Standing between them and her. Between them and”—he nodded toward the garage—“whatever she’s building.”
I thought about my life before this. High-rises and boardrooms. Deals that moved money but not much else. People who smiled too easily and meant too little. “I’m surprised you’re here,” I said.
“We’ve worked together for a long time. I’ll miss you.”
The sarcasm in his voice was thick enough that I almost smiled despite the seriousness of the topic. “That certain I can’t win this?”
He shrugged. “Not on your own.”
Did that mean . . .
He raised his hands. “This isn’t my fight, but I do suggest you rally your resources.”
I refilled my mug and realized this was my first real challenge. Money? I’d been born with it. Success? I’d been set up for it. This was different. I had competitors, but not enemies. Andre didn’t deliver information in person. His presence was a message on its own.
One I received and valued even if he wasn’t promising to have my back. “I lied,” I said in a low growl. “This is all about her.”
He chuckled. “I know. If you both survive, invite me to the wedding.”
I turned to say that wasn’t where this was heading, but he was gone. And I was forced to sit alone with the realization that honestly I had no idea where this was going.
I would have confronted my men about letting Andre in unannounced, but he was one of the few people who’d likely had more influence over them than I did.
And I didn’t hold that against them. Andre was someone who would know if any of them had survived a horrific nickname in elementary school for a pants wetting incident.
It was a skill Andre wielded like a superpower.
Collins entered the kitchen. “Sir.”
“He’s gone,” I said succinctly.
Collins made a face. “He told me to tell the team that what Jo is working on is worth whatever trouble it brings.”
Now that surprised me. “That all he said?”
“He warned us to not lower our guard.”
“That’s solid advice.”
Collins swallowed visibly. “You mentioned a bonus,” he said. “I appreciate it. But I don’t need extra money for this.”
I raised a brow. “No?”
He shook his head. “We’ll keep Jo safe. And one day, when the world hears about what went on here I’d like my name in a footnote. So I can tell my kids I stood on the right side of it.”
That hit me hard. “How do you know I’m on the right side?”
“Because Andre told us you are and he’s the only person who might know more about you than we do.”
I couldn’t dispute that. “You’re still getting the bonus,” I said.
His mouth ticked up. “Well, I won’t turn it down.” He paused at the doorframe. “But if there’s ever a documentary, I want to pick who plays me.”
I snorted. “Anyone in mind?”
“Someone taller,” he said. “And better looking.”
He left on that line, boots thudding down the hall.
My men weren’t just here for me anymore.
They were here for her.
For what she represented.
For what she was trying to build in this snowed-in corner of nowhere.
I closed the laptop and placed my mug in the sink. This was bigger than Jo and her father. It was about who controlled power—literal and otherwise—for the next fifty years.
Andre had advised me to rally my resources.
The thought stuck as I headed to the small office off Silas’s den. I closed the door, opened a secure server, and pulled up my contacts.
If you’d asked me a month ago to name my friends, I’d have listed investors, acquaintances, people I spent time with . . .
Now, with Raymean’s shadow hanging over Roy’s life and Jo in the garage building the future, the question felt sharper.
If this went bad, I could lose everything.
If it went well . . .who did I know who would be willing to get involved without expecting to profit from it? It would have to be someone unafraid of a fight, unable to be bought, and with a sense of responsibility when it came to humanity so I wouldn’t have to question their loyalty to the cause.
Someone I could trust with not just my life—but Jo’s.
My scrolling slowed over one name.
Tanner Morales.
Memories surfaced—dorm rooms, three half-disassembled laptops, a whiteboard covered in equations, a kid who stepped between bullies and their targets without hesitation.
A tech CEO now. His mind sharp enough to challenge anyone in the AI race. He was also idealistic enough to say he wanted at least one benevolent AI “ready to fight for humanity if the others went Skynet.”
Back then I’d laughed.
Now? I hoped that was still how he felt.
I didn’t call. Not yet. But the decision was made.
Jo had her shadow network.
Hopefully, I had Tanner Morales.
I smiled. The last time I’d seen Tanner he’d looked as bored with our social circle as I had. He was ripe for this.
First, it was time to be as open with Jo as she’d finally allowed herself to be with me. The lab smelled like oil and cold metal, but also coffee, solder, and the faint, flowery scent of Jo’s lotion.
She sat at the workbench, back to me, hair twisted up with a screwdriver this time instead of a clip, a streak of grease on her cheek.
I stopped in the doorway and watched her. She was typing in an almost cartoon-like fervor. No glamour. No curated anything. Just Jo—focused, stubborn, and brilliant.
“You’re hovering,” she said without turning.
I blinked. “How do you know?”
“You breathe like a Hallmark movie. All conflicted and tormented.” She clicked something, frowned, then finally spun to look at me. “What’s up?”
“I do not breathe like a Hallmark movie.”
“One hundred percent you do.”
I leaned against the opposite bench. “You got a minute?”
She glanced at the laptop, then at me. The guardedness that once slammed down instantly now hesitated. “For you? Maybe.”
Progress.
“I’ve been going through more intel on your dad.”
She stilled—every line of her body going alert. “I told you who he was,” she said quietly.