"Sit," he says, not looking up from whatever he's reading on his tablet.
I sit in the chair across from his desk, the same chair where I've received operational briefings and performance assessments for two years. This feels different. This feels like being called to the principal's office except the principaloperates a private club with surveillance capabilities that rival government agencies.
Lucien sets down the tablet and finally looks at me. His expression is neutral, carefully controlled. "Tell me about last night."
"I stayed at the safe house with Lana. Blackwood Security coordinated apartment upgrades remotely. No additional incidents with Trask or Reese." The facts, delivered professionally, omitting the parts that are none of his business except they're absolutely his business given my employment.
"You stayed at the safe house," Lucien repeats. "For security purposes."
"Initially, yes."
"And then?"
"And then it became personal." I hold his gaze. "I'm not going to lie to you about what happened. I’m supposed to consult, help Brandon with the security set up. But I also got personally involved in ways that compromise professional objectivity. I can't walk away from her—she asked for me, and honestly, I don't want to. But you should know because my judgment is compromised. If protecting her puts The Dominion at risk, I need you to tell me."
Lucien leans back in his chair, studies me with the particular attention he brings to assessing whether someone is useful or has become a problem. "You're compromised."
"Yes."
"Can you still function professionally despite the compromise?"
The question has weight I wasn't expecting. He's not immediately firing me or reassigning me. He's assessingwhether emotional involvement makes me more or less effective at the actual job.
"I can function professionally. But I can't guarantee I'll make decisions based purely on operational necessity when those decisions affect Lana directly." Admitting the truth to Lucien suddenly feels harder than I’d imagined. "If protecting her requires choosing between Dominion interests and her safety, I'll choose her safety. You need to know that."
"I do know that." He takes a sip of his coffee, sets it down with precision. "The question isn't whether you're compromised. The question is whether your compromise serves my purposes or conflicts with them."
The phrasing makes my stomach tighten. "What purposes?"
"The same purposes that made me assign you to her in the first place." He stands and moves to the window overlooking Miramont's downtown core, the gesture I've seen him make when conversations are about to get more complicated than expected. "Julian Ashford. Do you know the name?"
I run through mental catalogs of Dominion members, patrons, people in Lucien's orbit. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but I can't place it. "No. Should I?"
"He's been a patron here since I started operations. Old money, venture capital, the kind of wealth that doesn't need to advertise itself." Lucien turns from the window. "He's also my oldest friend. We grew up together in The Hollows before either of us had money."
The detail surprises me. Lucien never talks about his past, keeps his personal life separate from Dominion operations with the same precision he brings to everything else. "And he's connected to Lana, how?"
"He's not. Not directly." Lucien returns to his desk, sits down with the careful deliberation of someone choosing words precisely. "But he's connected to Gabriel Pope. Or rather, he was connected to the same networks Gabriel operated in."
"The Glasshouse." I say it as a statement, not a question.
"Yes." Lucien pulls up something on his tablet and turns it to show me. Financial documents, encrypted communications, meeting records that go back decades. "Julian Ashford got involved with them about twenty years ago. Money laundering, mostly. Using his venture capital firm to clean their funds."
I scan the documents, recognizing patterns similar to what I found in Gabriel Pope's financial records. "You never mentioned you knew someone personally who was involved."
"Because it wasn't relevant to your assignment. Or I told myself it wasn't." Lucien's expression is grim. "Julian and I grew up together in The Hollows. We’re practically family. When he got tangled up with The Glasshouse two decades ago, I didn't have the resources to help him. Now I do, but it's complicated."
"Past tense? Got tangled up?"
"He tried to make it past tense. About five years ago he developed a conscience—realized the money he was laundering funded operations he couldn't ignore anymore. Trafficking, probably other worse activities. He wanted out." Lucien closes the tablet. "But you don't leave organizations like The Glasshouse. They own you until you're not useful, then they eliminate you."
The implication hits me before he finishes. "Gabriel Pope."
"Gabriel Pope wanted out too. Or he became a liability. Either way, his death was convenient timing for people who couldn't afford his connections being examined publicly."Lucien meets my eyes. "When Gabriel died, Julian panicked. He thought The Glasshouse was cleaning house. Removing anyone who knew too much. He came to me asking for help."
"Help with what?"
"With assessing whether Lana Pope knows anything dangerous. Whether Gabriel's widow is sitting on intelligence that could expose Julian—and by extension, expose clients and operations The Glasshouse will kill to protect." He's watching me carefully, monitoring my reaction in real time. "Julian needed to know what she knows. If she's a threat. If she has evidence that could destroy everything he's spent twenty years building and trying to escape."
