Jax
[Flashback]
Interesting.
He closed his laptop, disconnected it, and headed out.
"Sit."
Jax sat. Set his laptop on the pristine desk. One leg started bouncing immediately.
Every pen perpendicular. Every folder flush. Even the air felt alphabetized. His hand drifted toward the pen cup. Arthur's eyes moved. Jax redirected his hand through his hair like that had always been the plan, flashing Arthur a sheepish grin.
"You showed April something today," Arthur said. Not a question.
"I showed her Chad's been trying to hack her accounts. And that he's a walking compliance disaster." Jax's fingers drummed on his laptop. "You already know that though. Or you wouldn’t have called me. "
Arthur opened a folder on his desk and slid it across. It contained printed spreadsheets. Expense reports. Policy violations highlighted in yellow.
Jax was already leaning forward, scanning before the folder stopped moving.
"I flagged inconsistencies three months ago," Arthur said. "Expense irregularities. Unapproved charges. Missing documentation."
"You reported this?"
"To HR. Standard escalation protocol."
"What happened?"
"Closed. Marked resolved." Arthur's tone didn't change, but a cold flicker crossed his eyes.
Jax's drumming slowed.
Yeah. There it is.
"And today there was reason," Jax said. "Today April asked me to make sure things don't disappear."
"I learned you've been auditing Chad. What do you have?"
Jax's opened his laptop and spun it around. The Chad Dashboard filled the screen.
Arthur stared at it for three full seconds.
"How long?" Arthur asked.
" 246 days."
"Reports filed?"
"Nine. All to HR. All closed without action."
"How many reports did you file?" Jax asked.
"Four. Over three months."
Jax's fingers were already moving. "Give me dates. Approximate is fine."
Arthur rattled off timeframes. Jax pulled up HR ticketing logs, eyes scanning rapidly through closed incidents. "Found them."
Jax leaned closer to the screen. His fingers picked up speed. "March 15th, expense irregularity flagged by... Arthur Vance, CFO. Closed same day by—" His voice sharpened. "Brenda Novak."
Arthur's hand moved to his calculator. Click.
"April 3rd," Jax continued, leg bouncing harder. "Another from you. Closed by Brenda Novak." Click-click. "May 22nd. Brenda Novak." Click. "June 8th—"
"Brenda Novak," Arthur finished quietly.
Jax shoved the laptop across the desk. The pattern was undeniable. Every report Arthur filed, closed by the same person within hours. Jax's nine reports showed the same name, over and over.
"See? This is what's been happening." Jax's leg was still bouncing. "I documented everything. Filed nine reports. Followed every protocol." He tapped the screen. "Nothing."
Arthur's hand moved to his calculator again. Click. Click-click. The rhythm was steady, mechanical.
Jax watched it. The way Arthur's hand needed to move. The same way his leg needed to move. Different system, same—
He blinked. Refocused.
"What do you have?" Jax asked.
"Financial misconduct. Expense misappropriation. Fraudulent claims across three fiscal quarters." Arthur pulled out the audit summary from today. Red marks covered the page. "He failed the audit. Significantly."
Chad's badge log ticked across Jax's screen. Left at 3:47.
He pulled up the feed. Chad, walking out the front door mid-phone call, jacket open, looking like a man who had no idea what was coming.
Where's April?
He pulled up her location. Couture Magnifique. He found the nearest camera feed and pulled it up.
She stepped out of the boutique into the light. Different clothes—champagne silk, fitted trousers. But it wasn't the clothes. It was how she moved. Shoulders down. Spine loose. Like she'd set the weight down in there and walked out without it.
Good.
He typed.
JAX: "We are spirits clad in veils."—Christopher Pearse Cranch
Should I have—
He typed again. She needed to know why.
JAX: I saw you come out of there different, April. Beautiful.
Oh.
That just told her I was watching.
He glanced at Arthur. Arthur was watching him the way he watched spreadsheets—like the numbers were off and he was waiting for them to explain themselves. "The technical issues today. The autocorrect. The calendar disruptions. That was you."
Jax's grin was unrepentant. "I set up distractions. Little chaos grenades. Kept him off-balance while you were poking through his expense reports. Autocorrect changed 'team' to 'clown troupe.' His calendar kept spawning fake meetings. His phone wouldn't unlock unless—"
His phone buzzed.
APRIL: Watching me through cameras? That's something you ask about first.
"It helped," Arthur said.
"Huh." Jax leaned back. "Thought that one would get me in trouble."
JAX: noted. surveillance requires consent.
JAX: creating new "don't watch people without asking" protocol
JAX: also creating "texts I failed to think better of" folder for the poetry
"It helped." Arthur's tone made it clear the discussion was over. "He made errors he wouldn't have made otherwise."
JAX: both infractions logged for future punishment/reward consideration.
JAX: your call.
"What else do you need?" Jax asked, eyes back on Arthur.
APRIL: I'll think about it.
"Everything you have. Technical violations. Security breaches. Access logs. We combine your evidence with my financial audit and build a case Killian can't ignore."
JAX: badge log: chad left at 3:47pm
JAX: facial expression analysis: punchable
Arthur reached into his folder and pulled out a printed spreadsheet.
"April sent me this," Arthur said. "Operational impact. Every project he's delayed. Every bottleneck he's created."
Jax leaned forward, scanning it. His leg slowed.
He surveyed every arrow, every delay light with red cells marking delays like a trail of casualties, every project stalled at "Waiting on Chad."
He already knew she was beautiful. Already knew she was kind. But her brain. He was looking at her brain—the way it saw the damage and turned it into evidence no one could look away from. He hadn't thought he could want her more than he already did. He was wrong.
His leg stopped.
"You know what kills plausible deniability? A chart."
Arthur gave a single approving nod—like someone had just correctly filed a form.
They worked in focused silence after that. Arthur laying out documentation in precise chronological order. Jax queuing up technical evidence, organizing files by severity and impact.
"Password reuse," Jax said, pulling up logs. "Seventeen instances. Clicking phishing links—four times in six months. Unauthorized file access. Using April's credentials to access documents above his clearance."
"Expense fraud," Arthur countered, tapping a spreadsheet. "Double-billing for rideshares. Marking personal meals as client entertainment. Using company card for non-business purchases."
Jax's fingers drummed against the edge of his laptop. "Logging in from unsecured locations. Bars. Gyms. That one Uber with no doors."
He looked at Arthur, eyebrows up, head tilted. You hearing this?
"Missing receipts totaling four thousand dollars."
"Failed security training. Twice." Jax leaned forward, pulling up the next log.
"Policy violations across twelve categories."
Arthur placed April's bottleneck map at the center of his desk. The red cells caught the lamplight. Jax's eyes went to it for a second before coming back to his screen.
"Operational paralysis," Arthur said. "Twelve active projects. Nine days average delay. $847K in revenue risk."
Jax glanced at it again. Then back at his screen. "That's the kicker, isn't it? We have the how. April has the impact."
Jax glanced at the feed. April, mid-laugh, head tipped back, easy in a way he hadn't seen from her before today.
There she is.
"What's the Sterling Gala?" Jax asked, still watching the feed.
"Charity event. Liam Sterling's." Arthur didn't look up.
"We followed the rules," Jax said. "Got ignored. Why is this going to be different?"
Arthur's hand moved to his calculator. Click. Click-click. "As CFO, I have a responsibility to act on financial misconduct the moment I'm aware of its full scope." His jaw tightened. "I'm aware now."
Arthur picked up his phone. "We bring it directly to Killian. Tonight."
"So it ends tonight," Jax said.
April at the Gala. Mystery dress. Chad's takedown. A lot happening tonight.
"It ends tonight," Arthur confirmed.
Arthur set his phone down. "He's coming. Ten Minutes."
Jax sat back. Thumbs started twiddling against each other.
Arthur didn't move. Hands folded. Watching.
One minute. Maybe two.
Jax's thumbs moved faster. He shifted in the chair. Shifted back. Glanced at Arthur. Arthur hadn't blinked.
Okay. This is fine. People do this. People sit in chairs and wait for things.
Arthur sat.
Jax's leg started bouncing. Slow at first, then picking up speed until the chair creaked under it. He pressed his palm flat against his thigh. Stopped it. It started again.
How long did he say? Ten minutes? It's been ten minutes. It has to have been ten minutes.
It had not been ten minutes.
Arthur watched him.
How does he do that? How does a person just—
Jax stood up.
He walked to the bookshelf first. Scanned the spines. Every one flush, perfectly aligned, sorted by—God, were they sorted by height? They were sorted by height. His hand drifted toward one that was a millimeter off from the others.
He pulled it back.
Arthur's office. Arthur's things.
He moved to the window. Looked out. Nothing interesting. Moved to the other side of the desk. The pen cup—colors sorted, then height. The calculator, parallel to the desk edge. A folder stack so precise it looked like it had been measured.
Does he use a ruler? He probably uses a ruler.
Jax's fingers hovered over the edge of the folder stack.
No.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept pacing.
Arthur hadn't moved. Hadn't shifted. Hadn't so much as adjusted his posture. He sat there like a man who had all the time in the world and knew it.
How. How do you do that. How do you just exist in a room and not—
He probably alphabetizes his pantry. Possibly his socks.
Arthur sat.
The door opened.
Killian appeared in the doorway. Still in his suit from the board meeting, tie loosened, the exhaustion of four hours of financial projections evident in his shoulders.
Thank God.
He looked at them both. "This better not be about the group chat."
Arthur handed him the folder.
Killian opened it.
The joke was still on his face when he started reading. Then it wasn't.
Jax had assumed Killian knew. Had to know. Someone up the chain had seen nine reports filed and dismissed them. He'd assumed it went all the way up. Killian’s Authority covering for his friend.
Killian turned a page. His jaw tightened.
But this wasn't the face of a man who knew.
The hand holding the folder shifted. Grip tightening.
His eyes slowed. Moved back up a page. Stopped on a figure.
Jax watched each one land.
Killian finished reading.
He closed the folder.
Jax watched the decision land: the way Killian's posture changed.
Chad has no fucking idea.