"And if we refuse?" Ezra finds his voice, though it's shaking.
"Then we file formal proceedings that require discovery on all your financial dealings. Your campaign funding gets examined publicly. Your connections to organizations that don't tolerate scrutiny get exposed." Mira's expression is stone. "How long does your political career survive that attention?"
Complete stillness. Everyone weighing whether settlement or exposure serves their interests. I'm watching the Glasshouse representative, trying to read whether he's accepting terms or planning something worse.
Then Lana speaks, her voice small and lost in ways that are perfectly calibrated. "I just want this to end. I don't understand venture capital or joint investments or any of Gabriel's business. I don't even know what companies he invested in." She's looking at Ezra now, playing the innocent widow so convincingly I almost believe it myself. "If you really did invest with him, I don't know how to prove that. I inherited his money, not his business knowledge. I just want to move forward with my life."
The performance is flawless. Ezra's expression shifts—guilt replacing panic. His attorneys are nodding, clearly advising settlement.
The Glasshouse representative studies Lana with focused intensity. Testing her performance, looking for tells that would reveal strategic ignorance versus genuine confusion. After a long moment, he speaks to Ezra.
"Drop the claim. Sign the settlement. She doesn't understand what she inherited."
The casual dismissal makes my jaw tight, but it's exactly the assessment we needed. He's decided she's genuinely ignorant, not worth the complications of elimination.
Ezra looks at his attorneys. They nod—settle, cut losses, preserve political viability. He reaches for the documents, reads them with defeated resignation.
"I acknowledge no joint investments exist with Gabriel Pope's ventures. I drop all claims to his estate or business interests. We both sign NDAs about Gabriel's business dealings. The foundation continues under Lana's leadership without my involvement or inquiry."
"Correct." Mira's already offering a pen. "Sign. We file this today. It's over."
Ezra signs with shaking hands. His attorneys witness. The Glasshouse representative doesn't sign—maintains deniability—but his slight nod indicates approval.
Mira countersigns, passes documents to Lana who signs with trembling hands that complete the performance. I witness last, confirming this settlement happened exactly as documented.
"Done," Mira announces, gathering signed papers. "This dispute is resolved. You're free to pursue your politicalambitions without legal complications, Ezra. And Lana gets to move forward with her life."
Ezra stands, looks at Lana with something between regret and relief. "I'm sorry. For all of this. Gabriel was—" He stops, unable to finish. "I hope you find peace."
"Thank you." Lana's voice stays small, maintaining the performance even though it's technically over.
They leave—Ezra, his attorneys, the Glasshouse representative who orchestrated everything without ever providing a name. Brandon texts:They're exiting building. Want us to follow?
I text back:No. Let them go. It's over.
Except it doesn't feel over. The settlement went too smoothly. The Glasshouse representative accepted Lana's performance too easily. Everything about this feels like we got exactly what we wanted which means I'm missing something dangerous underneath the apparent victory.
"We did it," Lana says, still in character even though we're alone with Mira. "It's actually over."
"It's over," Mira confirms. "I'll file this with the court today. By tomorrow all the challenges will be officially dismissed. You're free, Lana."
But I'm already thinking about exit strategy, about getting Lana out of this building before whatever I'm missing becomes apparent. "We should go. Now."
"Jax is right," Mira says, reading my paranoia correctly. "You've been here long enough. Get her somewhere safe while I handle the legal filing."
We thank Mira, leave the conference room, and head toward the elevators where Brandon is waiting. He falls into stepbeside us, professional presence that suggests everything went according to plan.
"Clean exit?" he asks.
"Clean settlement. They agreed to everything." I'm scanning the lobby, the elevator bank, every surface where threats could materialize. "Too clean. I want her out of this building immediately."
Brandon nods, already texting his team. We take the elevator down to the parking garage in tense waiting, none of us speaking, all of us processing that the meeting went exactly as planned which means I'm probably missing something dangerous underneath the apparent victory.
The elevator doors open onto parking level three. Derek should be waiting with our vehicle near the designated spot where we parked this morning. Andre is backup in the second vehicle. Everything according to protocol.
Except something feels wrong.
I can't identify the source—no obvious threats, no suspicious vehicles, no pedestrians who shouldn't be here. Just the particular weight of being watched that I've learned to trust after years of protection work.
