12. Surrender Terms #2
Because she deserves better than a mirrored box between floors.
"Penthouse," I say. "We regroup."
The doors slide open.
Rachel steps out ahead of me.
And it hits me, clean and cold, standing in that hallway.
I almost lost her to a forced signature. Almost let Fawn win because I spent three days being afraid of my own feelings.
That's done.
Whatever comes next, I'm not stepping back again.
Nate has the penthouse secured by the time we arrive. Two exits. Camera feeds running. Countermeasures active.
I set up the work table while Rachel changes. Laptop. Evidence files spread wide. The financial trail I've been building for weeks, laid out in sequence for the first time.
Someone knocks.
Three raps. Then the door opens without waiting.
"You look terrible."
Collin Grey fills the doorway.
Same height. Same jaw. Same gray eyes that have been reading me since we were seven years old. But where I carry everything behind locked doors, Collin wears the world like it's comfortable. Always has. When we were kids it drove me insane.
Right now it's the best thing I've seen in days.
"Milan's a long way from LA," I say.
"Webb called." He crosses the room and pulls me into a brief, hard embrace. No words needed. We've never needed many. "Said you were running on fumes and being heroic about it."
"I'm fine."
"You're not." He releases me and drops into a chair across from my laptop like he owns the room. "But you will be. That's why I'm here."
A woman appears behind him.
Tall. Gorgeous. Precise. The kind of composure that gets built in courtrooms.
She carries a leather briefcase and an expression that says she arrived having already done everyone else's homework.
"Shari Ellis," Collin says. "General Counsel for Platinum Pulse. Sharpest lawyer I know."
Shari extends a hand. "And the only one who's learned not to be surprised by anything he does."
Collin's mouth curves. "She undersells herself."
Something passes between them. Brief. Telling.
Very interesting.
"Connor Grey," I say, shaking her hand. "You didn't need to make the trip."
"It’s a good distraction for us. Collin said someone needed to dismantle Fawn Moreau's legal position before she does any more damage.
" Shari clicks the briefcase open with practiced efficiency.
"I brought injunction templates and a full offense timeline.
If we file before six, we cut off her options before tomorrow morning. "
"Rachel's changing," I say. "You'll want to meet her."
"The designer." Shari's expression sharpens with what looks like genuine respect. "I've read everything. Fawn's paper trail is a disaster. She moved fast and got sloppy."
Collin leans back, watching me with the particular patience of someone who shares your DNA and knows exactly what you're not saying.
"Tell me about Rachel," he says.
"There's nothing to tell."
"Webb says otherwise."
"Webb should focus on his own life."
Collin's smile is slow and entirely too knowing.
I'm saved by the bedroom door.
Rachel steps out in black trousers and a cream silk blouse. Hair back. Composed. Rebuilt from the inside out in under twenty minutes.
She sees Collin and something in her face opens.
"Your brother doesn't talk about you enough," she says, crossing to shake his hand.
"Emotional damage," Collin says cheerfully. "Runs in the family."
Rachel laughs.
Real laughter. Not the performance she's been giving press and board members all week. Something loose and unguarded that she doesn't hand out easily.
The knot that's been sitting in my chest for three days loosens by degrees.
She turns to Shari. "Thank you for coming all this way."
"A case this clean doesn't come along often." Shari's smile has teeth. "I plan to enjoy it."
Rachel looks at me across the room.
Four people. One table. A trail of evidence that leads straight to Fawn's door.
For the first time since the tape dropped, it feels like a fair fight.
Collin catches my eye. One raised eyebrow. The question wordless and obvious.
She's the one.
I don't answer.
I don't need to. He already knows.
Shari lays documents across the coffee table in precise rows.
Collin opens financial records on his laptop.
Rachel leans in, studying the paper trail with eyes that are trained to catch what doesn't fit.
"This transfer," she says, tapping a wire confirmation. "The timing is off by forty-eight hours from the public filing date."
Shari looks up. "You caught that faster than my paralegal did."
"When someone's trying to pass off fake stitching as original work, you learn to look at the seams." Rachel sits back. "That's not a clerical error. Someone moved that money and then tried to bury it."
Collin glances at me.
Yeah, his expression says. I see why.
I should tell her now.
Right here, while the room is full and the evidence is spread between us and she still looks at me like I'm someone worth trusting.
I should tell her that the paper trail goes further back than Fawn.
That there's a contract with my signature on it that she hasn't found yet.
That the surveillance on her life started before we ever met, and I'm the one who authorized it.
I should tell her.
"Connor."
Rachel's watching me. Something careful in her expression.
"You still here?" she asks quietly.
I look at her across the table. Tired and sharp and still in the fight when most people would have folded twice over.
"Right here," I say.
She holds it a beat longer than she needs to.
She knows something is sitting unsaid.
She doesn't push.
Not yet.
"Then let's finish it," she says.
The room comes alive. Shari building the legal framework. Collin running the financial thread. Rachel connecting details the rest of us walk past.
Outside, Milan holds its breath.
Inside, we build the case that will end Fawn.
And I sit at that table knowing the truth I'm keeping will eventually find its way into the light.
When it does, the woman across from me, the one who just laughed for the first time in days, the one who fights like she was built for it, will have every reason to walk out that door and never look back.
The question isn't whether she'll find out.
The question is whether I can give her enough reasons to stay.