"A transaction? I know. But you installed cameras in my apartment this morning, configured a system that gives me more control than most security professionals would allow, and just agreed to attend Thursday's lunch as backup. Let me buy you a sandwich." She hands the server her card. "Besides, if we're meeting weekly, we should establish that this is mutual. Not you providing service while I passively receive protection."
The distinction matters to her. I can see it in the firmness of her tone, the way she won't let me take the check.
"Okay," I say. "Your treat. But next time is mine."
"Deal." She signs the receipt when the server returns. "Equality in lunch payments if nothing else."
We leave Stella's together, step out onto streets that are busier now, the lunch crowd dispersing back to offices and obligations. The afternoon is cool, September settling into the kind of clarity that makes everything look sharper than it is.
"Thursday," Lana says as we pause on the sidewalk. "Marconi's, 1 PM. You'll be there?"
"I'll be there. Different table, close enough to monitor. If Ezra becomes threatening, I'll intervene."
"And if he's just manipulative? Psychologically aggressive but not physically dangerous?"
"Then I'll document everything. Record the conversation if you're wearing audio. Build our case while he builds his."
"Audio recording without consent is illegal in Miramont."
"It's complicated. Miramont follows one-party consent—if you're part of the conversation and wearing the device, it's technically legal. But Ezra's lawyers might argue differently if it ever goes to court." I pull out my phone. "The better approach: I'll give you a device from my own equipment. Small and discreet. We can meet tomorrow to configure it, test the upload system, and make sure you're comfortable wearing it."
She considers this. "Tomorrow works. Where?"
"Your apartment. I can check the camera system simultaneously, make sure everything's functioning properly." I pocket my phone. "And we'll run through what to expect from Ezra—his likely script, pressure tactics, how to respond without giving him ammunition."
"A rehearsal."
"Preparation. Going in blind gives him advantage. Going in prepared means you control the narrative."
"And if he has evidence? If he's found something that actually compromises my claim to the estate?"
"Then we deal with reality instead of speculation. But Lana?" I step closer, lowering my voice. "Whatever he's found, whatever he threatens you with Thursday—you're not facing it alone. That's the point of protection. Shared burden instead of isolated threat."
She nods, but I can see the fear underneath her composure. Fear of Ezra, fear of exposure, fear that Gabriel's death will be examined closely enough to reveal gaps in her memory as lies instead of trauma.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she says finally. "And Jax? Thank you. For the cameras, for lunch, for agreeing to conditions most security professionals would reject as compromising their authority."
"Authority without accountability is just control. I've had enough of that." I step back, giving her space. "Text me if anything happens. Anything at all. I'll respond immediately."
Then she's walking away, back toward the foundation office, leaving me standing on the sidewalk calculating how many lines I've already crossed and how many more I'll cross before this ends.
My phone buzzes with a text from Elias: We need to talk. Tomorrow, 7 PM. My place.
It's not a request.
Tomorrow at seven means I'll need to talk to Lucien about coming in late, or taking the evening off entirely. He won't like it, but he'll understand when I tell him it's Elias.
I text Elias back: I'll be there.
I pocket my phone and head back to my apartment. I need to locate the recording device I promised Lana, test its upload system, and prepare for tomorrow morning's installation at her apartment. Then there's Thursday's prep—reviewing Ezra Pope's background, mapping Marconi's layout, identifying optimal surveillance positions. And tomorrow evening, Elias.
The work stacks up, but the hollow place in my chest feels slightly less empty because I'm protecting someone who matters, compared to just watching the world happen to people I may never meet.
CHAPTER 8: LANA
I return to the foundation office after lunch feeling exposed in ways I can't quite name. The conversation with Jax stripped away layers of false bravado I've been maintaining since Gabriel died, and now I'm walking through the world with raw nerves where armor used to be.
Solange looks up when I enter, takes one look at my face, and closes her laptop. "What happened?"
