28. Jack
JACK
I pull up to the address in Brooklyn just after dusk, the sky softening into that strange blue that only exists between day and night. A tension lingers in the air, pressing against the windows of the car before I even open the door.
Rosenthal’s townhouse is wedged between two converted brownstones, nondescript except for the way my pulse picks up as I stare at it. Ari found the footage three hours ago, grainy street cam pulled from an angle no one should’ve caught, except she did. Ivy, hood up, slipping inside.
I park, step out. My shoes hit the pavement with the kind of finality that says this is it.
There’s a camera over the door. I knock once. Then again. I press the buzzer. No answer. I knock a third time, harder, my hand flat against the wood like I could will it open. I wait. Thirty seconds. A minute. Still nothing.
I lean back, jaw tight, a familiar edge clawing at my chest. My mind flashes through every scenario, wrong address, wrong time, someone lied. What if I’m too late? What if she’s already gone?
I’m about to knock again when the door opens a crack. But it isn’t Ivy.
A man peers out, narrow eyes, wiry frame, suspicion etched deep into his face. “Can I help you?”
“I need to see Ivy,” I say, voice taut. “Please. I know she’s here.”
“Who are you?”
“Jack Wilson,” I reply.
His frown deepens. “She didn’t say anyone was coming.”
“She didn’t know I was coming,” I snap, trying to control the tremor in my voice. “Look, I don’t have time to explain. Just tell her I’m here.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.
I take a breath and call out, sharper now. “Ivy!”
The hallway swallows the sound. For a second, I hear nothing. Then…
“Jack?” Her voice. Distant. Closer. Footsteps.
And then she’s there, behind the man, eyes wide, wearing one of my old sweatshirts like it’s the only armor she has left.
“Let him in,” she says, already reaching past him.
He steps aside reluctantly. I step through the threshold, and she throws her arms around me. She’s alive. Cold. Pale. But in my arms.
"Jack," she whispers, voice breaking.
The hallway smells like old books and lemon cleaner, dimly lit by the kitchen behind her. I reach for her face, hands shaking. I kiss her forehead, her cheek, her mouth. It’s not careful. It’s not soft. It’s everything I’ve been holding back.
"You ran," I whisper, breath ragged.
"I thought it would keep you safe."
"You are what keeps me safe."
Tears catch in her lashes. “I thought if I stayed, he’d use me against you.”
“I nearly lost my mind,” I say, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
She leans in closer. “So did I.”
Footsteps approach from the back room. Dawson appears, clearing his throat. Ivy steps back, steadies herself.
“We’ve been working on the press drops, the legal handoffs,” she says. “Everything’s lined up.”
“Good. Because I’ve been working too.”
I lay it all out, Marcus Grant flipping with immunity.
Vivian turning over internal memos. Marla resigning and providing a statement to the state attorney.
Conrad Whitman investigating Derek’s financials and submitting documentation to federal authorities.
Talia is ready to break the story. Then I pull out my phone, hit send.
“What was that?” Dawson asks.
“Final leak,” I say. “It goes live in sixty seconds.”
Ivy squeezes my hand, her eyes locked on mine. “I didn’t know what you were doing, but I hoped. God, I hoped.”
“There’s more,” I say. “The DOJ’s building a RICO case. Offshore fraud, intimidation, coercion, it’s all there. Derek didn’t just lie. He engineered a criminal network to shield it.”
Dawson whistles. “You brought a nuke to a knife fight.”
I look at Ivy. “I brought the truth.”
Her eyes shine. “Then let’s watch it burn.”
***
Within the hour, headlines flood every major outlet. Articles dominate financial blogs and front pages. Live tweets chronicle every update. Audio clips of Derek’s calls loop across news networks, each one sharper than the last. His face is everywhere.
“Do we have eyes on him?” Ivy asks, jaw tight.
“He’s still in the city,” Dawson replies. “But not for long. The SEC already issued subpoenas. His accounts were frozen fifteen minutes ago. Indictment could come before sunrise.”
A knock interrupts. Dawson opens the door to a courier, brisk and unreadable. A manila envelope changes hands. Dawson flips through the contents and lifts his gaze, electric with certainty.
“This is it. We’ve got him.”
“Criminally?” Ivy asks.
“RICO,” he confirms.
She exhales like she’s been holding her breath for days.
I reach for her hand. “We did it.”
Talia’s article hits in minutes. It goes viral. Vivian’s statement follows. Marcus’s testimony lands. Marla’s resignation ignites pressure for institutional reform. The final puzzle pieces slot into place. Derek’s empire fractures in real time.
“He’ll be in custody before the hour’s out,” Dawson says. “And the Foundation? It gets to start over.”
“Good,” I say, looking at Ivy. “Because whatever we build next, I want you beside me.”
Her eyes soften. “Then let’s go home. Together.”
I mean the penthouse. The place that never felt like home until she stood in it. Where I kept her note like scripture. Where I waited. Where I bled for this moment. Now, it feels right. Now, it’s ours.
***
By nightfall, Derek is in federal custody, and Ivy is in my arms. I brush a thumb beneath her eye, catching the last trace of salt.
"I kept thinking if I could just find you, everything else would fall into place,” I say.
She leans into my palm. "You didn’t just find me. You saved more than just me.”
I shake my head slowly. “You were always the reason. The fire.”
She curls her fingers into mine. “When the dust settles, I don’t want to go back to normal. I want peace. With you.”
I kiss her again, this time without urgency. “We’ll have that. All of it.”
Outside, sirens hum faintly, but the city no longer has a hold on us. We’re done running. We barely make it past the front door of my place before everything catches up, the adrenaline, the hunger, the relief.
I pull her to me without a word, lost in the way she fits against me. Her arms wrap around my neck. Her legs wind around my waist like she never plans to let go. The soft thud of her back against the bedroom door. Her breath hitching. Her fingers tugging at my shirt like it’s in her way.
“I missed you,” she whispers.
“Show me,” I rasp.
My hands slide under her sweatshirt, her skin hot and bare beneath. We stumble toward the bed, stripping away weeks of fear with every breathless kiss. When I press inside her, her eyes lock to mine. It’s not just sex. It’s a vow. One we never said, but always meant.
“I love you,” she breathes.
I press my forehead to hers. “I love you more. And I’m never letting you go.”
Our bodies move in sync, slow and deep, a rhythm of reclaiming. Her fingers dig into my back, her mouth against my shoulder like prayer.
“You’re mine,” I whisper.
“Always,” she gasps, pulling me closer.
We come undone together, louder than whispers, stronger than promises. No more words. Just trust. Just love.
***
We don’t speak for a while. Our breathing slows. Ivy lies half on top of me, cheek to my chest, her fingers drawing lazy shapes along my ribs like she’s writing a memory.
I tilt my head to kiss her hair. “You’re safe now.”
She nods but doesn’t lift her head.
“I kept thinking,” she murmurs, “what if we didn’t get this chance? What if it ended before we even started?”
“You didn’t have to carry that alone.”
“I didn’t want to drag you into more danger.”
I wrap my arms around her. “You’re not a burden. You’re the reason I made it through.”
A long silence stretches between. I listen to the sound of her breathing, her heartbeat syncing with mine like we’ve done this a thousand times before. I stare up at the ceiling, tracing the path that led us here. Every lie. Every wound. Every choice. And still, we found our way.
I kiss her temple again, eyes closed. “We build from here. Together.”