CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE JAX
Wednesday morning arrives with the particular weight of days that determine whether people live or die. I'm awake before dawn while Lana sleeps beside me in the safe house bedroom. Today I have to trust that she will be convincing enough to keep her safe.
Brandon texts at six AM: Team assembled. Three positioned outside Mira's building. I'll be primary on street level.
I text back: Good. No one enters that building without being logged. If Trask shows, I want immediate notification.
Brandon: Understood. How's she doing?
Me: Still sleeping. I'll wake her in thirty minutes.
I set down the phone and return my attention to Lana who's curled on her side facing away from me.
Yesterday's board confrontation left her angry and defiant.
Today requires something different—vulnerability, helplessness, the performance of someone who just wants her life back rather than someone fighting for control of an organization she built.
At six-thirty I wake her with coffee and the reality that we have two hours before the most important meeting of her life.
"Morning," she says, her voice rough with sleep. "Is it really Wednesday?"
"It's really Wednesday." I hand her the coffee and sit on the edge of the bed. "Mira wants us there by nine. Brandon's team is already positioning outside the building."
She sits up, takes the coffee, drinks it black the way she's been taking it since I’ve known her. "I've been practicing in my head. The helpless widow who doesn't understand Gabriel's business. Who just wants this resolved so she can move on with her life."
"You don't have to perform for me. Save it for the room.
" I'm watching her face, trying to assess whether she's actually prepared for this or just pretending to be.
"Lana, once we're in there, you can't break character.
Ezra will be looking for signs you're lying.
His attorneys will be watching for inconsistencies, The Glasshouse will probably have a representative with them too.
If they think you know more than you're saying—"
"I know. They'll decide I'm a threat instead of just a nuisance." She sets down the coffee and meets my eyes. "Jax, I can do this. It's only a few hours compared to the years I spent making myself smaller to survive Gabriel."
The comparison makes my chest tight with anger I can't afford right now. "This is different from Gabriel. These people kill threats. They don't just control them."
"I know." Her voice is steadier than mine. "That's why the performance has to be perfect."
We spend the next hour preparing. She dresses in clothes that project vulnerability rather than strength— a soft sweater, simple jewelry, and minimal makeup that makes her look tired and overwhelmed.
I wear standard security attire—dark suit, tactical knife concealed at my belt because today warrants preparation I usually avoid, the kind of professional presence that says I'm there for protection rather than participation.
At eight-fifteen we leave the safe house with Derek following in a second vehicle.
The drive to Mira's office takes thirty minutes through morning traffic, giving Lana time to get into character, to transform from the woman who walked out of yesterday's board meeting with defiance into someone who just wants this nightmare to end.
"Remember," I say as we approach downtown, "Mira leads the legal strategy. You're just there to agree to settlement terms. Let her handle Ezra's attorneys. You handle looking like you don't understand what's actually at stake."
"Got it. Be helpless and ignorant. Be desperate for this to end." She's staring out the window at Miramont's financial district where Mira's law office occupies three floors of a glass tower. "What if they don't believe it? What if Ezra sees through the performance?"
"Then Mira threatens formal discovery that exposes his Glasshouse funding and destroys his political career before it starts." I'm parking in the building's underground garage now, already scanning for threats. "But it won't come to that. You're convincing when you need to be."
We take the elevator to the fifteenth floor where Mira's firm occupies premium real estate with views of the harbor.
Brandon is already in the lobby, positioned near the elevators with sight lines to both the entrance and the conference room corridor.
He nods once when he sees us—everything in place, no complications yet.
A woman in a sharp power suit meets us outside the conference room, her expression all business. Lana extends her hand. "Mira, this is Jax Hills. Jax, Mira, my attorney."
We shake hands briefly, professional acknowledgment without wasted time.
"They arrived ten minutes ago," Mira says, already moving into briefing mode. "Ezra, two attorneys, and a third man who matches the profile of the Glasshouse representative we discussed."
Lana's jaw tightens slightly but she nods—we prepared for this possibility. "So they're here."
"They're here. Which means today's assessment is direct, not filtered through Ezra's legal team.
" Mira's expression shows calculated focus.
"Remember what we practiced. You inherited Gabriel's assets but not his business knowledge.
You want resolution, not prolonged legal battles.
Keep your responses simple and confused when they mention specifics. "
"I can do that." Lana's already shifting into character, her shoulders curving inward, her expression transforming from determined to overwhelmed.
"Jax stays in the room," Mira continues. "Brandon and his team are positioned outside. If anything feels wrong, we have immediate backup."
I check my phone one last time—a text from Brandon confirming his team is ready. No message from Lucien, which probably means Julian is too terrified to acknowledge today's meeting exists.
"Ready?" Mira asks, hand on the conference room door.
Lana nods, already fully in character. "Let's end this."
The conference room is all glass and chrome, the kind of space designed for high-stakes negotiations where millions of dollars change hands with signatures.
Ezra Pope sits at the far end of the table flanked by two attorneys who look like they bill by the minute.
The third person—mid-fifties, expensive suit, expression that gives away nothing—sits slightly apart from Ezra's legal team in ways that confirm Mira's suspicion about Glasshouse representation.
Ezra stands when we enter, performing the ritual of a bereaved brother greeting his sister-in-law. "Lana. Thank you for agreeing to meet."
"Ezra." Her voice is exactly right—tired, sad, wanting this over. "I hope we can resolve this today."
We take seats across from them, Mira at the head positioning herself as lead negotiator, Lana beside her performing helplessness, me against the wall where I can watch everyone simultaneously.
The Glasshouse representative—if that's what he is—watches this positioning with the kind of attention that suggests he's assessing more than just legal strategy.
"Let's begin," Mira says, pulling out documents. "My client is willing to discuss resolution of this joint investment dispute if your client is prepared to provide documentation proving he actually invested capital alongside Gabriel Pope."
One of Ezra's attorneys responds with practiced neutrality. "Our client is prepared to discuss settlement terms pending satisfactory resolution of concerns about investment recovery and his stake in various ventures."
I recognize the dodge immediately—Mira asked for proof that Ezra invested money alongside Gabriel, and his lawyer just talked around it without actually agreeing to provide anything. They're stalling because they can't prove the joint investment claim.
"Then where's the documentation we requested?
Bank statements, wire transfers, investment agreements—anything proving Ezra Pope invested his own capital into Gabriel's venture capital deals.
" Mira's tone carries the edge of someone who already knows the answer.
"You agreed to bring proof. Where is it? "
The attorneys exchange glances. Ezra shifts uncomfortably. The Glasshouse representative remains perfectly still.
"The investments were informal. Family arrangements that weren't always documented through traditional channels," Ezra’s attorney attempts.
"So you have no proof." Mira leans back. "No documentation. No evidence. Just a claim that conveniently emerged after your previous estate challenge failed when we threatened discovery of where Ezra's campaign funding actually comes from."
"I don't see what campaign funding has to do with—" the attorney starts, but Mira cuts him off.
"It has everything to do with why we're really here.
" She pulls out documents, financial networks connecting Ezra's campaign to Glasshouse operations.
"This isn't about joint investments. This is about some organization using Ezra to assess what Gabriel Pope's widow knows about operations you can't afford to expose. "
The statement lands hard. Ezra looks genuinely shocked—either he didn't know about Glasshouse involvement or he's an excellent actor. His attorneys are calculating damage control, trying to determine how much exposure they're facing.
The Glasshouse representative speaks for the first time, voice carrying authority everyone in the room recognizes. "That's quite an accusation."
"That's an accurate assessment." Mira slides more documents across the table.
"We have communications. We have financial records.
We have enough to expose campaign funding sources that would end Ezra's political career before it begins.
So let's skip the pretense about joint investments and discuss actual resolution. "