Then a local fisherman in the middle of the room stands up. I recognize him from one of our workshops. Miguel, I think. His family almost signed one of Xavier’s predatory contracts before we intervened.
“So Mr. Laurent’s been lying to us?” His voice carries across the hall.
I meet his eyes. “Yes.”
Xavier starts to rise. “Now wait just a moment, I can explain...”
Oh, this should be good.
“These are...” He clears his throat, attempting to regain some dignity. “These are simply business transactions. Standard acquisitions. If there were any administrative oversights in the paperwork, I can assure you they were unintentional. I’ve been working in good faith to—”
Someone in the back laughs.
Not a polite chuckle. A full bark of disbelief.
Xavier’s face goes red. “I don’t think you people understand the complexity of international corporate structures. The holding companies in question are perfectly legal entities designed to—”
“Hide ya ass,” someone mutters.
More laughter now. Bitter, knowing laughter from people who’ve watched too many smooth-talking outsiders try to explain away theft with fancy words.
Xavier tries again, his voice rising. “If you would just let me explain the full context—”
Marisol cuts him off. “Hush your mouth. You’re done here.”
The room erupts in murmurs.
I watch Xavier’s face cycle through several expressions. Outrage. Calculation. The dawning realization that he’s lost.
He straightens his jacket and walks out without another word.
I watch Thorne follow him outside.
Making sure he actually leaves.
The meeting continues for another hour. Questions from community members. Clarifications about what happens next. Marisol coordinates with local officials about next steps, and I answer everything as clearly and thoroughly as I can.
By the time we wrap up, I’m exhausted. The adrenaline crash is hitting hard.
Keon drives Corin and me back to The Westlight. Thorne follows in a second vehicle. Counter-surveillance, I guess. Making sure Xavier’s people aren’t tailing us.
I barely notice. I’m too busy staring out the window, replaying every moment of the meeting in my head, looking for mistakes I might have made.
Typical.
You just won, and you’re already looking for ways you might have screwed up.
When we finally reach the private villa at the resort, Corin disappears onto the terrace.
I find him there twenty minutes later, after I’ve splashed water on my face and changed out of my formal clothes.
The sun is setting over the water, painting everything in shades of orange and pink. Corin is standing at the railing with his back to me. His shoulders seem tense.
“Hey.” I approach slowly. “You okay? We won, remember?”
He turns. And that’s when I see it.
He’s shaking.
