18. Victor Arrives #2
Victor doesn't look embarrassed. He simply lowers his hand smoothly, unbothered by the slight, and smiles. The immediate difference between the father and the son is staggering.
Stanley would have flushed red, puffed up his chest, and started shouting about respect. Victor just catalogs the reaction and moves on to the next strategy.
I look past Victor's shoulder to see Stanley standing completely still on the porch steps.
I don't miss the terrified, wide-eyed look in his eyes when his gaze slides over his father’s shoulder and lands directly on Jax’s massive frame. Stanley instantly swallows hard. He takes a very slow, very deliberate half-step to the side, giving Jax an incredibly wide berth.
An undeniable rush of satisfaction blooms entirely through my chest. It makes me feel almost guilty, but I don't look away from Stanley. I want him to know I see his fear.
"Shall we sit down?" Victor asks, gesturing gracefully toward the dark interior of the bar. "I prefer to do business where I can look a person in the eye."
"Back corner," Jax says, his voice devoid of any warmth.
Jax drops his hand from my hip, but he steps perfectly in front of me, forcing Victor and Stanley to follow him through the tables rather than leading the way. I walk close behind Jax, the broad wall of his back shielding me from the stares of the few patrons scattered at the bar.
We reach the heavy, scarred wooden booth Priest mentioned, and Victor unbuttons the single button of his charcoal jacket before he slides gracefully into the booth, sitting with his back ramrod straight.
Jax slides in directly across from him, and I slide in next to Jax. The massive width of his shoulders presses warmly against my own, pinning me safely between his body and the heavy timber wall.
Stanley lingers at the edge of the table. He doesn't sit in the booth but pulls a heavy wooden chair from an adjacent table and drags it over instead, sitting directly at the end of our booth, effectively trapping us in.
I do not look at him once. I stare straight ahead at Victor's impeccably tied silk tie.
"I won't waste your time," Victor begins.
He places his hands flat on the scarred wood of the table. His nails are perfectly buffed. A heavy, understated platinum watch sits on his left wrist. "I know my son has already approached you both regarding the acreage."
"He did," Jax says. The words are clipped.
Victor nods slowly. "Stanley’s methods can sometimes lack... nuance. I prefer transparency, Mr. Rowe.”
Victor pauses for effect before he continues.
“Moonrise is sitting on the edge of a major coastal redevelopment boom. The county zoning laws are shifting. The parcels of land you both currently occupy are directly in the center of what could be a multi-million dollar commercial district."
He leans forward slightly.
"I am prepared to offer you both double the current market value for the salvage yard and the residential plot," Victor says smoothly.
"Furthermore, I will cover all relocation costs, ensure that your business, Mr. Rowe, has a fully permitted industrial site further inland, and I will personally oversee that the transition is seamless. "
He pauses, letting the heavy, unsaid beats of silence stretch across the scarred table.
"It's more than fair." Victor finishes quietly. "And it is essential for the future development of Moonrise."
Jax leans back against the worn leather booth.
He spreads his arms, resting them lightly along the top of the bench behind me. The movement is lazy, relaxed, but the heavy muscles in his forearms are completely coiled. He looks at Victor with the calm of a man who has already decided to burn the building down.
"No," Jax says quietly, but it lands on the table without leaving room for argument.
Victor's perfectly trimmed eyebrows pull together a fraction of an inch.
"Mr. Rowe…"
"That's the answer," Jax interrupts. His voice is a low, dangerous rumble. He doesn't raise his volume, but the sheer threat behind the tone makes Stanley physically flinch in his chair at the end of the table.
Jax leans forward slowly, pulling his arms off the back of the booth. He rests his heavy, calloused forearms on the wood, leaning into Victor's space.
"I already told your son my answer," Jax says, staring directly into Victor's pale eyes.
"The answer was no yesterday. The answer is no today. It's not going to change tomorrow. I would deeply appreciate it if you, and the people who work for you, stopped pestering us about this."
Victor doesn't shrink back. The formidable energy around him seems to sharpen, turning cold and brittle. He studies Jax's face for a long, heavy moment.
Then, Victor turns his head and looks directly at me.
I know he is looking for the weak link. He assumes that I must be the one easily swayed by the promise of double market value and an easy exit.
"Miss Nora," Victor says softly. His tone drops an octave, adopting a gentle, entirely fake warmth. "I understand this is a lot to process. But an opportunity like this..."
I don't let him finish the sentence before folding my hands on the table right in front of me. I keep my spine entirely straight. I look directly into the cold, pale blue of his eyes.
"I appreciate the detail, Mr. Hargrove," I say. "But the answer is no."
Victor stares at me, and a long, heavy silence falls over the booth. The clinking of glasses from the main bar feels a million miles away.
I hold eye contact until Victor finally, slowly, blinks.
Jax straightens up entirely. The leather booth groans loudly under the shifting weight of his frame. He places both hands flat on the table, bracing himself, wordlessly telling him that the meeting is over.
"The problems that need solving here aren't on our side of the table, Hargrove," Jax says.