Chapter Eighteen #2
Shit. Lennox had expected to hear those words fall from his mother’s mouth. Lennox stared at her, then at his father, who was staring at her too, papers still raised in one hand. Then Jason noticed Lennox.
His face twisted. “You.”
Lennox smiled faintly. “Good morning.”
Jason pointed the papers at him. “You put her up to this.”
“As much as I’d love to take credit for Ma waking up and choosing to drop some dead weight finally, I had nothing to do with it.”
Mielle lifted a brow. “I can’t wait to be 225 pounds lighter,” she giggled.
Jason’s face reddened. “Mielle, you’ve lost your mind.”
“No,” she said. “I found it under thirty years of your affairs and betrayal. Years of humiliations and bastard babies who aren’t half as brilliant as your firstborn.”
Jason stepped forward. “Watch your mouth.”
Lennox moved before his mother could blink, placing himself between them, causing his father to stop in his tracks.
Mielle looked around Lennox’s shoulder. “I’m requesting fifty percent of all marital assets. A full accounting of hidden holdings. I also want retroactive support for the years you siphoned money into your other households and spousal support.”
Jason laughed, ugly and sharp. “You’ll get nothing.”
Mielle smiled. It was the first time Lennox had ever seen his mother look truly free.
“I have proof of the affairs,” she said. “The accounts and properties. The children’s birth certificates with your name on them. The nondisclosure agreements. The offshore movement, all thanks to the wives of The Council.”
“The Council wives?” his father repeated.
Mielle didn’t take her eyes off Jason. “Women talk when men underestimate them.”
A slow grin spread across Lennox’s face.
Jason saw it and snapped, “Wipe that look off your face.”
“No.”
“You think this is funny?” He asked Lennox.
“I think you’re loud for a man whose empire is currently being audited by women in pearls,” he quipped, causing his mother to laugh.
Jason crumpled the edge of the papers in his fist. “This is your doing.”
“I told you, it’s not.” Lennox took one step closer. “But since I’m here, let’s discuss why I stopped by.”
Lennox’s smile disappeared. “Curtis Bell.” The sound of that name made Jason’s expression tighten just enough to confirm what Lennox knew.
“You’re helping Curtis fabricate financial documents against The Full Plate Project,” Lennox said. “You’re creating false laundering trails, fake vendor payments, altered donor records, and enough sloppy metadata to insult everybody in this room.”
Jason recovered quickly. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I have every idea.”
“You hacked me.”
“You made it easy,” Lennox shrugged.
Mielle leaned back slightly, watching them like a layered performance. The delight in her eyes at his father being humbled yet again also brought Lennox Joy.
Lennox continued, “The stunt you tried to pull violates council bylaws.”
Jason scoffed. “You don’t speak for The Council.”
“Effective immediately, The Council is ceasing all ties with you, Curtis Bell, Bell Community Strategies, and every company tied to the acquisition corridor,” he added as Jason’s face drained of color.
Lennox took his phone out and tapped the screen once. “The notification should be hitting now.”
Jason’s phone vibrated nonstop, and his smother smiled serenely. Jason looked at his screen, and Lennox had the pleasure of watching a man realize in real time that every door he thought he owned had quietly locked from the other side.
“No,” Jason whispered.
“Yes.”
“You little bastard.”
“Careful,” Lennox said. “Your ex-wife is present.”
That did it; Jason charged as Lennox had known he would. Jason Jackson was predictable when cornered. He could manipulate, threaten, cheat, scheme, and posture, but strip him of control and he became nothing more than a man throwing his body at a wall.
Lennox met him halfway.
His mother gasped, but he barely heard it. Jason swung once, wild and angry. Lennox blocked it, turned him, and locked an arm around him with clean, practiced efficiency. Jason fought hard for a man who hadn’t earned most of his strength honestly, but rage without discipline was just noise.
“Let go of me,” Jason choked.
Lennox tightened his hold enough to make the point, not enough to make it last longer than necessary.
“You’re done touching what belongs to me,” Lennox said in his ear. “My mother. Lane. Her food bank. Any person I protect.”
Jason clawed at his arm, feet scraping against the rug.
Lennox held him until the fight drained out of him and his body went slack enough to drop.
He guided Jason down onto the rug rather than let him crack his head against the table, because apparently growth had even made him considerate with enemies.
Mielle stood slowly, one hand over her chest.
Mielle looked at her soon-to-be ex-husband sleeping on the floor of the sitting room she’d once arranged for his comfort, before she looked at her son, thankful he’d been there to protect her.
He swallowed and adjusted his jacket. “We’ll talk later.”
Mielle nodded.
“If you need anything, call me,” he said.
Her eyes warmed again, but there was sadness there too. “I should’ve been the one saying that to you all these years.”
He didn’t know what to do with that, so he kissed her cheek. “You can say it now.”
Mielle touched his face once, and for a second, he was a boy again, wanting something from her he hadn’t had the language to ask for. Then Jason groaned on the floor, interrupting the moment.
Mielle sighed. “I called my attorney and security to be here as I move my things out today. Both are waiting at the gate with the movers,” she let Lennox know.
Lennox paused, then laughed once. “Council wives?”
“Council wives,” she confirmed.
He left his mother standing taller in a house that had shrunk her for too long.
Then he went to find Curtis Bell, which took less time than it should’ve.
Men like Curtis loved proximity to power, which meant they often orbited in predictable patterns.
A private office in a renovated brick building near the acquisition corridor.
A name on frosted glass. A receptionist who looked one unpaid invoice away from walking out.
A conference room with inspirational words on the wall and predatory contracts on the table.
Curtis stepped out of his office when Lennox walked in, and his expression collapsed before he could hide it.
“Mr. Jackson.”
Lennox smiled. “Curtis.”
“I was just about to—”
“No, you weren’t,” Lennox was curt, stopping the lie in its tracks.
Curtis looked toward the receptionist. “Can we talk privately?”
“We can talk here.”
The receptionist stood slowly and grabbed her purse. “I’m taking lunch.”
Smart woman, he thought to himself.
When the door shut behind her, Curtis’s smile became desperate. “Whatever you think is going on—”
“I know what’s going on.”
Curtis swallowed as Lennox walked closer, stopping at the edge of the conference table. “You and Jason Jackson created false financial documents to make The Full Plate Project appear involved in money laundering.”
“I was following direction,” he cowered.
“From a man who no longer has the power to protect you,” Lennox spat venomously.
Curtis’s face went gray.
“There will be no acquisition,” Lennox said. “No corridor deal. No transition strategy. No state-of-the-art relocation offer designed to make poor people invisible. The council is done with you. Investors are done with you. Your shell companies are burned. Your lenders are already calling.”
Curtis stumbled back into a chair. “My lenders?”
“And your partners.”
Curtis fumbled for his phone, hands shaking as he unlocked it. Notifications poured in that he wasn’t prepared to handle. Lennox was sure there were enough missed calls, text messages, and emails to make the man’s head swim, but he’d done it to himself.
Now he’d have to go home and explain to his wife that she blew through money like she was married to Pablo Escobar, why there were holds on the accounts.
Every bit of false comfort drained from his body until he looked less like a consultant and more like a man realizing the floor had been a trap door. He sank to the ground and cried.