"Then you need to share it with him too. He's coordinating your security, so he needs to know what he's actually protecting you from." She stands and starts clearing plates.
I help her clear the table, carrying dishes to her sink while she refills our mugs with coffee. "Thank you. For putting your tech skills to work on Gabriel's files—I know the decryption alone is consuming your nights. And for not dragging me out of my relationship with Jax despite… Well, everything."
"You're welcome. Though I reserve the right to drag you out later if he turns out to be Gabriel with better surveillanceequipment." Her tone is light, but the warning underneath is genuine.
Derek drives me back to The Gateway, maintaining professional presence while I process everything Solange revealed. The decoded files change everything—Gabriel wasn't just involved with The Glasshouse, he was building their financial infrastructure. And now they're assessing whether his widow inherited dangerous knowledge along with his assets.
When we reach the safe house, Jax is waiting. He takes one look at my face and knows immediately that brunch was more than just Solange's approval of our relationship.
"How did it go?" he asks, already pulling me inside.
"Productive. And concerning. Solange was able to decode some files I gave her after Gabriel died." I watch his expression shift to focused attention, the kind I recognize from when he's processing new intelligence. "Using her tech skills, she's been breaking through Gabriel's encryption for months now. She finally got through some more files."
"You gave Solange encrypted files?" He's already guiding me to the couch, clearly wanting full details. "What kind of files?"
"Financial records, communications—everything Gabriel kept locked away on his personal drives. I didn't know what they contained, just that they were heavily encrypted and probably important." I'm pulling up what Solange sent to my burner phone. "She found evidence that Gabriel wasn't just moving money for The Glasshouse. He was helping them build entire financial networks across multiple jurisdictions."
Jax takes the phone from me, studies the screen with the intensity of someone trained in intelligence analysis. His jaw tightens as he scrolls through the documents.
"Money laundering on a massive scale," I continue. "Using his venture capital firm as cover. Communications, transaction records spanning years—it's all there."
"This is sophisticated," he says after several minutes of reviewing. "Not just criminal enterprise. This is state-level financial architecture."
"And Gabriel wanted out. Solange found communications where he's talking about conscience, about not being able to ignore what the money was funding." I swipe to another message. "The Glasshouse told him they don't tolerate doubt."
"Then his death was convenient for them. Even if they didn’t arrange it, the timing worked in their favor." Jax is already thinking strategically. "And now they need to know if you inherited his files, his knowledge, his ability to expose them."
"That's what Wednesday is really about." The reality settles heavier now that I understand the full scope. "Ezra's joint investment claim is truly pretext. They're using him to assess what I know."
"Which means Wednesday you perform ignorant widow convincingly enough that they decide you're not worth eliminating." He's already texting Brandon, probably sharing the new information. "Lana, these files—does Mira have copies?"
"I’ll send everything to her tonight. She needs to understand what we're walking into Wednesday."
"Good. Because this changes the threat assessment entirely." He sets down his phone and frames my face with his hands. "If The Glasshouse is this sophisticated, they're not going to be satisfied with just a meeting. They'll want ongoing assurance you're not a threat. Which means Wednesday needs to be definitive—prove you have no actionable knowledge aboutthem and that investigating you further creates more risk than leaving you alone."
"How do we prove that? I do have actionable intelligence. I'm literally holding Gabriel's files right now."
"You have encrypted files you barely understand. You inherited them, didn't seek them out, don't know what they mean beyond vague connections to organizations you've never heard of." He's already building the narrative. "Wednesday you're the traumatized widow who just wants Gabriel's brother to stop harassing her. You don't understand venture capital, don't know about shell corporations, can't decode financial networks spanning jurisdictions. You're not a threat. You're just trying to survive."
The strategy requires feigning ignorance that feels increasingly distant from reality. "And if they don't believe it?"
"Then Brandon and I are in that room, and Mira has evidence ready to expose Ezra's Glasshouse funding, and we have exit plans for every contingency." His hands are still framing my face, keeping me focused on him rather than letting me spiral into possibilities we can't control. "Besides, they can’t do anything in that room. But they will believe it. Because you're going to be so convincing that eliminating you becomes more complicated than leaving you alone."
I want his certainty to anchor me, and I want to believe that one performance on Wednesday ends this. But understanding the full scope of what Gabriel was involved in—the scale of The Glasshouse's operations, the sophistication of their networks—makes it harder to believe anything ends cleanly.
"Solange said I'm being tactical now. That you're rubbing off on me." I'm still holding my phone withGabriel's files displayed. "Three weeks ago I couldn't make it through foundation meetings without panic attacks. Now I'm strategizing about criminal organizations and playing ignorant to avoid elimination."
"Three weeks ago you were still fully processing Gabriel's death. Now you're fighting for your life. People adapt when survival requires it." He takes the phone from my hands, sets it aside. "But Lana, you don't have to carry this alone. Wednesday we're a team. Mira, Brandon, me—we're all working to get you through that meeting."
"And after Wednesday? If they decide I'm not a threat and leave me alone—what happens then?" The question escapes before I can stop it.
"We figure it out. Together. After you're actually safe." He pulls me against his chest, holds me in ways that feel inadequate for everything we're facing. "One crisis at a time."
I nod against him, accepting that some questions don't have answers until immediate danger passes. Five days until Wednesday. Five days to prepare for the performance that determines whether I survive my inheritance.
Five days to prove I'm worth leaving alive.
CHAPTER 23: JAX
