"And if the performance isn't convincing? If they decide I'm lying?"
"Then we have backup plans and exit strategies and people positioned to intervene." He crosses to me, framing my face with his hands. "But it won't come to that. You've been performing for years. One more performance to stay alive isn't asking too much."
The assessment is accurate even if it's uncomfortable. I've performed for Gabriel, for the board, for donors and colleagues and everyone who expected me to be something other than what I was. One more performance to convince dangerous people I'm not dangerous seems almost laughably easy by comparison.
Except the stakes are higher than they've ever been. This isn't performing to maintain marriage or professional credibility. This is performing to stay alive.
"Okay," I say, because there's no other option. "I'll play the part. The frightened widow who just wants this nightmare to end. Make myself seem too broken to be a threat."
"You will." He kisses me once more, brief but meaningful. "And tomorrow, when this is over, you get to stop performing. You get to just be exactly who you are without apology."
I hold onto that promise like a lifeline, like evidence that there's an after to Wednesday's meeting, like proof that survival is actually possible.
Twenty-four hours until I walk into a room with people who might decide I'm more valuable dead than alive.
Twenty-four hours to prepare for the performance of my life.
CHAPTER 25: JAX
Wednesday morning arrives with the particular weight of days that determine whether people live or die. I'm awake before dawn while Lana sleeps beside me in the safe house bedroom. Today I have to trust that she will be convincing enough to keep her safe.
Brandon texts at six AM:Team assembled. Three positioned outside Mira's building. I'll be primary on street level.
I text back:Good. No one enters that building without being logged. If Trask shows, I want immediate notification.
Brandon:Understood. How's she doing?
Me:Still sleeping. I'll wake her in thirty minutes.
I set down the phone and return my attention to Lana who's curled on her side facing away from me. Yesterday's board confrontation left her angry and defiant. Today requires something different—vulnerability, helplessness, the performance of someone who just wants her life back rather than someone fighting for control of an organization she built.
At six-thirty I wake her with coffee and the reality that we have two hours before the most important meeting of her life.
"Morning," she says, her voice rough with sleep. "Is it really Wednesday?"
"It's really Wednesday." I hand her the coffee and sit on the edge of the bed. "Mira wants us there by nine. Brandon's team is already positioning outside the building."
She sits up, takes the coffee, drinks it black the way she's been taking it since I’ve known her. "I've been practicing in my head. The helpless widow who doesn't understand Gabriel'sbusiness. Who just wants this resolved so she can move on with her life."
"You don't have to perform for me. Save it for the room." I'm watching her face, trying to assess whether she's actually prepared for this or just pretending to be. "Lana, once we're in there, you can't break character. Ezra will be looking for signs you're lying. His attorneys will be watching for inconsistencies, The Glasshouse will probably have a representative with them too. If they think you know more than you're saying—"
"I know. They'll decide I'm a threat instead of just a nuisance." She sets down the coffee and meets my eyes. "Jax, I can do this. It's only a few hours compared to the years I spent making myself smaller to survive Gabriel."
The comparison makes my chest tight with anger I can't afford right now. "This is different from Gabriel. These people kill threats. They don't just control them."
"I know." Her voice is steadier than mine. "That's why the performance has to be perfect."
We spend the next hour preparing. She dresses in clothes that project vulnerability rather than strength— a soft sweater, simple jewelry, and minimal makeup that makes her look tired and overwhelmed.
I wear standard security attire—dark suit, tactical knife concealed at my belt because today warrants preparation I usually avoid, the kind of professional presence that says I'm there for protection rather than participation.
At eight-fifteen we leave the safe house with Derek following in a second vehicle. The drive to Mira's office takes thirty minutes through morning traffic, giving Lana time to get into character, to transform from the woman who walked out ofyesterday's board meeting with defiance into someone who just wants this nightmare to end.
"Remember," I say as we approach downtown, "Mira leads the legal strategy. You're just there to agree to settlement terms. Let her handle Ezra's attorneys. You handle looking like you don't understand what's actually at stake."
"Got it. Be helpless and ignorant. Be desperate for this to end." She's staring out the window at Miramont's financial district where Mira's law office occupies three floors of a glass tower. "What if they don't believe it? What if Ezra sees through the performance?"
"Then Mira threatens formal discovery that exposes his Glasshouse funding and destroys his political career before it starts." I'm parking in the building's underground garage now, already scanning for threats. "But it won't come to that. You're convincing when you need to be."
