Chapter 11 #2
"Yeah. But now we know. And Diaz is on our side—she's risking everything to help us." I shifted to face her. "Tomorrow we meet with Sloane Harper. Between her investigation, Diaz’s intel, your father’s lawyers, and what we already have… the Langs are starting to run out of places to hide.”
Ava nodded slowly. Then, to my surprise, she smiled. A real one.
"We actually have a chance," she said. "A real chance."
"We do."
"I keep thinking about Derek Edwards' family.
His mom came into the ER once, a few months after it happened.
She didn't know I was the one who heard Kevin's confession—she was just there for a sprained wrist. But she talked about him.
About how he was saving up for college, how he worked at that grocery store every day after school.
" Ava's voice was soft. "She deserves to know what really happened. They all do."
"They're going to know. We're going to make sure of it."
She looked at me, and her expression shifted. Softer. Less guarded.
"Thank you," she said."For letting me stay here. For the crew. For everything. I don't know what I would have done without you."
The words landed somewhere I didn't have a name for.
"You would have figured it out," I said. "You always do."
I meant it. Still did.
"Maybe." She tucked her feet up under her, leaning into the couch cushions. "But I'm glad I didn't have to."
We sat like that for a moment. Comfortable. Easy. Watson purred between us, oblivious to anything but the warmth.
Then Ava stretched, stifling a yawn.
"When this is all over," she said carefully, "I should probably start looking for my own place again."
I nodded. Kept my face neutral.
The words landed. Harder than they should have. I didn't want her to leave. I didn't want to go back to an apartment that felt empty, to mornings without her stealing my coffee, to evenings without Watson weaving between both our legs.
But I had nothing I could ask for without changing everything. The whole point of this arrangement was safety. Once the Langs were dealt with, once the threat was gone... what reason did she have to keep living with me?
None. At least, none I could say out loud.
"Makes sense," I managed. "Once everything settles down."
"Yeah." She smiled again. It didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Anyway. I'm going to try to get some sleep."
She stood, scooping Watson into her arms despite his protests. At the door to her room, she paused. Glanced back.
"Get some rest, Brian."
"You too."
The door clicked shut.
I sat on the couch alone. Stared at the empty space where she'd been.
Neighbors. Friends. Nothing more.
The lie didn't even make it to morning.
The lie didn't last.
The diner in Astoria was everything the Midtown restaurant Ava described wasn't—fluorescent lights, cracked vinyl booths, coffee that tasted like it had been brewing since the Nixon administration.
Neutral ground. Public enough to feel safe, anonymous enough to disappear into. Shane had arranged the meeting using the contact he’d kept from the Tommy Vickers coverage. Sloane had agreed without hesitation—said the Lang family had been on her radar for years.
I slid into the booth, Ava beside me, our shoulders brushing. Shane and Maya sat across from us, Maya's hand resting on Shane's knee under the table. Garrett took the chair at the end, eyes on the door. Always watching. Always calculating.
We ordered coffee. Waited.
I recognized her the moment she walked in.
Sloane Harper had covered enough FDNY stories over the years that her face was familiar—the sharp focus, the purposeful stride, the way she scanned a room like she was already cataloging details for a story.
Dark hair pulled back in a low ponytail, blazer over jeans, a leather messenger bag slung over one shoulder.
She spotted Shane immediately. Raised a hand in greeting. Started toward the table—
And froze.
Her eyes had landed on Garrett.
I watched it happen in slow motion. The way Sloane's step faltered, just barely, like she'd walked into an invisible wall. The way her expression flickered—surprise, then something painful, then nothing at all as she locked it down behind a professional mask.
Garrett was looking back at her. His face was unreadable. His hands curled into fists on the table.
Neither of them said anything.
Then Sloane moved again. Crossed to the table. Sat in the only available seat—directly across from Garrett.
"Shane." She shook his hand, voice steady. Professional.
"Thanks for coming," Shane said. If he'd noticed the tension, he was pretending otherwise. "This is my brother Brian, Dr. Ava Rothwell, and Garrett."
Garrett nodded once. Said nothing.
I glanced at Ava. She'd caught it too, something running beneath the surface. History. The kind that left marks. She gave me a small look. Later.
Shane took the lead. He'd rehearsed this. I could tell by the way he laid it out. Clean. Linear. The kind of briefing that didn't leave room for questions until the end.
Sloane listened without interrupting, taking notes in quick, precise shorthand. Her pen moved across the paper with practiced efficiency, but I noticed her eyes flicking to Garrett more than once. And each time, she looked away quickly, like looking at him too long would burn.
"We need the full story out there," I added when Shane finished. "The cover-up, the witness tampering, Richard Lang's involvement. The DA won’t move without public pressure. Otherwise, this disappears."
Sloane tapped her pen against her notebook. "The Langs have deep pockets and long reach. Investigating them won't be easy. Or safe."
"We know," Shane said. "But you're the best at what you do. And this story deserves to be told."
She was quiet for a moment, something shifting behind her eyes.
"This is strong." She tapped her pen against the notebook. "I could publish now. Get people asking questions."
"No."
Garrett’s voice cut through the table.
Everyone turned. It was the first word he'd said since Sloane sat down.
Her expression flickered. "Excuse me?"
"You publish now, the target moves to you. We don’t want that." His voice was flat, controlled, but there was something underneath it. Something tight. Controlled. "Build the full case first. Do it right."
Their eyes met. Held. The air between them crackled.
Shane cleared his throat. "Garrett's got a point. We'd rather you take the time to nail this down completely. Make it bulletproof."
Sloane held Garrett's gaze for another beat. Then she looked away, something tight around her mouth.
"Fine." She closed her notebook with a sharp snap. "I have contacts at City Hall. A source at the DMV who owes me a favor. I'll verify the footage, dig into the shell companies, find anyone else the Langs have paid off." She looked at Ava. "When I have everything, I'll need you on the record."
"When the time comes," Ava said. "Yes."
Sloane stood. Pulled out a business card, slid it to Ava.
"I'll be in touch."
She turned to leave. Paused.
Still didn't look at Garrett.
"Good to see you, Shane. Maya." Then her gaze moved to Ava, and her expression softened just slightly. "Dr. Rothwell, what you're doing matters. A lot of people would have walked away by now."
Ava nodded. Sloane turned. "I'll be in touch."
Then she was gone.
The table was silent.
Garrett was staring at his untouched coffee, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping.
I didn't ask. Wasn't my business.
But I filed it away. The way his voice had changed when he told her not to publish. The way her sharpness felt like armor.
Unfinished business. The kind that mattered.
For now, we had work to do.