We take the elevator to the fifteenth floor where Mira's firm occupies premium real estate with views of the harbor. Brandon is already in the lobby, positioned near the elevators with sight lines to both the entrance and the conference room corridor. He nods once when he sees us—everything in place, no complications yet.
A woman in a sharp power suit meets us outside the conference room, her expression all business. Lana extends her hand. "Mira, this is Jax Hills. Jax, Mira, my attorney."
We shake hands briefly, professional acknowledgment without wasted time.
"They arrived ten minutes ago," Mira says, already moving into briefing mode. "Ezra, two attorneys, and a third man who matches the profile of the Glasshouse representative we discussed."
Lana's jaw tightens slightly but she nods—we prepared for this possibility. "So they're here."
"They're here. Which means today's assessment is direct, not filtered through Ezra's legal team." Mira's expression shows calculated focus. "Remember what we practiced. You inherited Gabriel's assets but not his business knowledge. You want resolution, not prolonged legal battles. Keep your responses simple and confused when they mention specifics."
"I can do that." Lana's already shifting into character, her shoulders curving inward, her expression transforming from determined to overwhelmed.
"Jax stays in the room," Mira continues. "Brandon and his team are positioned outside. If anything feels wrong, we have immediate backup."
I check my phone one last time—a text from Brandon confirming his team is ready. No message from Lucien, which probably means Julian is too terrified to acknowledge today's meeting exists.
"Ready?" Mira asks, hand on the conference room door.
Lana nods, already fully in character. "Let's end this."
The conference room is all glass and chrome, the kind of space designed for high-stakes negotiations where millions of dollars change hands with signatures. Ezra Pope sits at the far end of the table flanked by two attorneys who look like they bill by the minute. The third person—mid-fifties, expensive suit, expression that gives away nothing—sits slightly apart from Ezra's legal team in ways that confirm Mira's suspicion about Glasshouse representation.
Ezra stands when we enter, performing the ritual of a bereaved brother greeting his sister-in-law. "Lana. Thank you for agreeing to meet."
"Ezra." Her voice is exactly right—tired, sad, wanting this over. "I hope we can resolve this today."
We take seats across from them, Mira at the head positioning herself as lead negotiator, Lana beside her performing helplessness, me against the wall where I can watch everyone simultaneously. The Glasshouse representative—if that's what he is—watches this positioning with the kind of attention that suggests he's assessing more than just legal strategy.
"Let's begin," Mira says, pulling out documents. "My client is willing to discuss resolution of this joint investment dispute if your client is prepared to provide documentation proving he actually invested capital alongside Gabriel Pope."
One of Ezra's attorneys responds with practiced neutrality. "Our client is prepared to discuss settlement terms pending satisfactory resolution of concerns about investment recovery and his stake in various ventures."
I recognize the dodge immediately—Mira asked for proof that Ezra invested money alongside Gabriel, and his lawyer just talked around it without actually agreeing to provide anything. They're stalling because they can't prove the joint investment claim.
"Then where's the documentation we requested? Bank statements, wire transfers, investment agreements—anything proving Ezra Pope invested his own capital into Gabriel's venture capital deals." Mira's tone carries the edge of someone who already knows the answer. "You agreed to bring proof. Where is it?"
The attorneys exchange glances. Ezra shifts uncomfortably. The Glasshouse representative remains perfectly still.
"The investments were informal. Family arrangements that weren't always documented through traditional channels," Ezra’s attorney attempts.
"So you have no proof." Mira leans back. "No documentation. No evidence. Just a claim that conveniently emerged after your previous estate challenge failed when we threatened discovery of where Ezra's campaign funding actually comes from."
"I don't see what campaign funding has to do with—" the attorney starts, but Mira cuts him off.
"It has everything to do with why we're really here." She pulls out documents, financial networks connecting Ezra's campaign to Glasshouse operations. "This isn't about joint investments. This is about some organization using Ezra to assess what Gabriel Pope's widow knows about operations you can't afford to expose."
The statement lands hard. Ezra looks genuinely shocked—either he didn't know about Glasshouse involvement or he's an excellent actor. His attorneys are calculating damage control, trying to determine how much exposure they're facing.
The Glasshouse representative speaks for the first time, voice carrying authority everyone in the room recognizes. "That's quite an accusation."
"That's an accurate assessment." Mira slides more documents across the table. "We have communications. We have financial records. We have enough to expose campaign funding sources that would end Ezra's political career before it begins. So let's skip the pretense about joint investments and discuss actual resolution."
I'm watching Ezra's face—the moment he realizes he's been outmaneuvered, that his joint investment claim wastransparent from the start. His attorneys are whispering urgently, probably advising immediate settlement.
"What do you want?" The Glasshouse representative asks, voice flat.
"We want Ezra to drop this baseless joint investment claim. We want written agreement that he has no stake in Gabriel Pope's estate or business ventures. We want Lana to be left alone." Mira slides settlement documents forward. "In exchange, everything we know stays confidential. No public exposure of campaign funding. No formal discovery. No political complications."
