9. Jarvis
JARVIS
I keep my eyes on the road, but the rearview mirror holds everything that matters.
Jolie is asleep on her grandmother's lap in the back seat, her face pressed against the lavender cardigan and her honey hair tangled across the older woman's knees.
The lines around her eyes and the tightness in her jaw that I've grown used to seeing have softened in sleep.
Her grandmother strokes her hair with a trembling hand and presses a kiss to her temple every few miles.
Jett is driving the SUV right behind us.
Her grandfather sits beside Jolie on the left, his hands folded on his knees, while her grandmother sits on her right.
Neither of them has spoken much since we left the motel.
The grandfather just keeps looking at Jolie like he's seeing her for the first time.
I grip the steering wheel harder until the leather creaks under my hands. I want to pull over and hold her, to check every inch of her for damage. And I want to kill Rudolf Wolfe with my bare hands for being the reason she ran.
But I don't. I keep driving, controlled and steady, because that's what she needs right now. She doesn't need my violence. She needs my certainty.
We pull into the driveway at dusk, the restaurant dark and the house warm. I turn off the engine, and the silence is heavy.
Jett parks right behind us and is at the car door before I've even turned off the engine. He looks through the window at Jolie, then back at me.
"Is she awake?" he asks.
I glance in the rearview mirror. Her eyes are still closed, her breathing even. "No."
"I'll get the door," he says.
He opens the back door, and the interior light flickers on. Jolie stirs, blinking with confusion until her eyes find me in the driver's seat. The fear in them guts me.
"Hey," I say. My voice is rougher than I want it to be. "We're home."
She sits up slowly. Her grandmother's hand stays on her back. "I'm sorry," Jolie whispers. "I shouldn't have..."
"Not now," I say. "No apologies tonight. Just sleep. Just let us take care of you."
She nods, but her eyes are wet. I lift her out of the car, and she weighs nothing in my arms. I carry her up the steps past Jett and into the house, her grandfather following with her grandmother on his arm.
I carry her straight to the master bedroom where she stays with us, and Jett pulls back the covers as I lay her down gently while she sinks into the mattress with a sigh that sounds like surrender.
"Jarvis," she murmurs.
"Right here." I sit on the edge of the bed and brush the hair from her face. "I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere."
Jett kneels on the other side. He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles. "Sleep, sunshine. We've got the rest."
She closes her eyes. She's out in seconds.
I look at Jett over her sleeping body. "We handle this tonight. All of it."
He nods. "Rudolf first."
"Rudolf first," I agree.
I wait until the grandparents are settled in the other guest room with tea and blankets. I wait until Jolie is breathing deep and even, her body finally still. Then I go to my office and I close the door.
Jett is already there. He's got his laptop open, and he's scrolling through security footage.
"Got it," he says. "The whole thing on audio and video. Every threat he made and every slimeball word out of his mouth."
I don't open my laptop. I don't need to.
Jett made the calls while he was driving, and the evidence is already coming together.
One to the president of the state restaurant association, another to a lawyer who owes me a favor from a bankruptcy case I helped him win, and a third to a private investigator who's been digging into Rudolf Wolfe for the past six hours.
"He's done," I say. "But I want to watch."
Jett grins. It's not a friendly grin. "I figured you would."
At 9:00 PM, Rudolf answers his phone, probably thinking it's Jolie calling to surrender. The number is blocked, but he picks up on the first ring.
"Miss Parker," he says, his voice smooth and oily. "I was starting to think you'd finally come to your senses."
"I have," I say. "But not the way you're hoping."
There's a pause. "Who is this?"
"Jarvis Donovan. The stepfather. Or, as you put it, the new partner."
I hear him swallow. "I don't know what that girl told you, but..."
"She told me nothing. Your words told me everything, and so did the security cameras in my restaurant. High definition, full audio. Every threat you made, every lie you told about a verbal contract, and every disgusting insinuation about my relationship with the woman I love."
Jett leans over and hits a key, and an email fires off to twelve members of the local restaurant association board.
Attached is the video, the PI's report, and documentation of three other women in the past eight years—all young heirs to family businesses, all pressured into selling below market value.
Two forged documents, four settlements paid through shell companies to keep victims quiet.
A pattern so clear it might as well be a confession.
"You're finished," I say, my voice calm and almost gentle.
"By morning, every board member in three counties will know who you are.
By noon, the health inspector you threatened to call will be investigating your own establishments.
By Friday, the deadline you gave my girl, you won't have a business left to run.
Your banks will freeze your lines of credit, your partners will drop you to avoid the stink, and if you ever come near Jolie Parker again, I will personally make sure the only job you can get is asking people if they want fries with that. "
"You can't do this," Rudolf sputters. "I'll sue. I'll..."
"You won't," I say. "Because if you do, I'll bury you in court until you're living in a studio apartment and selling your suits at a consignment shop. This isn't a negotiation. This is a funeral. Yours."
I hang up.
Jett closes the laptop. "That was poetic, brother."
"It was necessary," I say. "Now the real work begins."
The next morning, I wake up with Jolie curled against my chest and Jett behind her with his arm draped over her waist. The bindings are gone—we cut them off last night while she slept and drained her properly and gently, both of us feeding from her until she sighed and melted into the mattress. The red marks are already fading.
But the emotional wounds are still there. I can feel them in the way she holds her breath when she thinks we're not looking and the way she apologizes with her eyes before she speaks.
At breakfast, her grandmother makes pancakes, and the kitchen smells like butter and syrup. Her grandfather sits at the head of the table, watching Jolie. He's not angry, just searching, trying to understand.
"We need to talk," I say.
The table goes quiet. Jolie's fork freezes halfway to her mouth.
"Not about the restaurant," I continue. "About us. About Jolie. And about what happens next."
Her grandfather sets down his coffee cup. "I think that's wise."
I stand up and walk to the side of the table where Jolie is sitting, pulling out the chair next to her. Jett stands on her other side. We flank her and don't sit.
"Henry," I say, using his name for the first time. "Margaret. You raised the most important person in my life. You gave her stability when her mother couldn't, and you gave her love when the world made her feel like a burden. I owe you more than I can ever repay for that."
Margaret's eyes fill with tears. Henry's jaw tightens.
"I won't insult you by asking for your blessing," I say.
"I'm not a boy asking a father for permission.
I'm a man telling you my intentions. I love your granddaughter.
Jett loves your granddaughter. We intend to marry her, protect her, provide for her, and build a life with her that she never has to doubt or hide from. "
Jolie makes a small sound, but I don't look at her. I keep my eyes on Henry.
"I know it's not conventional," I say. "I know what it looks like from the outside. But I don't care about the outside. I care about her. And I will spend every day proving that she is chosen first, that she is enough, and that she never has to bind herself or run away or suffer alone ever again."
Henry holds up a hand. "And the law? You can't legally both marry her."
"Then we'll find a way that protects her," I say. "Legal agreements, trusts, whatever it takes. She will never want for anything or be left without support, and she will never wake up wondering if she belongs because we will make sure she knows she does. That's not a promise. That's a fact."
Jett speaks up, his voice softer than mine but no less certain.
"We chased her across a state line, sir.
We brought you with us because we knew she needed to see that the people who love her weren't going to abandon her, no matter how hard she tried to protect us by leaving.
That's not a phase or infatuation. That's permanent. "
Henry looks at Jolie. "Is this what you want, sweetheart? Truly?"
Jolie's hands are shaking, and she puts them in her lap. "I was scared," she whispers. "So scared that loving them would destroy everything you built for me, that I'd shame you, that I'd prove Mom was right to choose the restaurant over me because I just make messes wherever I go."
"Oh, sweetheart," Margaret says. Her voice breaks.
"But they came for me," Jolie continues, her eyes streaming but her voice steady. "They didn't let me go or hide. And when I'm with them, I don't feel like a mess. I feel like I finally fit somewhere."
Henry looks at me, then at Jett, then back at his granddaughter. He exhales slowly, and I see the fight leave him. Not because he fully understands, but because he sees her.
"I don't pretend to understand the arrangement," he says finally. "But I understand devotion, and I see it on both their faces." He looks at me. "If you ever hurt her..."
"We won't," I say. "But if we do, we'll answer to you. And to ourselves."