"Lunch happened. Conversation happened. Agreements about Thursday happened." I sit in the chair across from her desk, pull my knees up the way Dr. Cross says I'm protecting myself. "Jax is going to be at Marconi's. Different table, monitoring. And I'm wearing a recording device."
"A wire? Lana, that's—"
"Legal. He explained the consent laws. And necessary." I wrap my arms around my knees. "Ezra is building a case to discredit me. We need our own documentation."
"Okay." Solange leans forward, her voice careful. "But that's not what has you looking like you just survived an interrogation. What else happened?"
Everything I want to say crowds my throat. That Jax admitted he's been watching me obsessively for two weeks. That he breached my building's camera system to monitor my apartment door. That he installed surveillance in my home this morning and gave me admin access as proof that his watching is different from Gabriel's controlling. That we negotiated boundaries over grilled cheese sandwiches like two people conducting business instead of whatever this actually is.
That when he said I make him want to be present instead of absent, engaged instead of observing, something in my chest responded with terrifying recognition.
"He told me he's been watching me, monitoring my phone," I say instead. "Tracking my movements. He knew about Ezra's call before I mentioned it."
Solange's expression darkens. "And you're okay with this?"
"I negotiated terms. Transparency, veto power, weekly check-ins, exit clause. He agreed to all of it." I rest my chin on my knees. "And he gave me admin access to the camera system he installed. I can see everything he sees, disable feeds whenever I want. That's different from Gabriel's surveillance."
"Different how? Gabriel watched you. This man watches you. Both involve invasion of privacy."
"Gabriel watched me to control. Jax watches me to protect. And he's giving me the ability to watch back, to control when and how I'm monitored." I meet her eyes. "I know how that sounds. I know it looks like I'm rationalizing surveillance. But Solange, someone followed me yesterday. Professional surveillance. Ezra's investigator, probably. If I'm being hunted by people who want me discredited or worse, having someone on my side who knows how to counter-surveil feels less like violation and more like survival."
She's quiet for a long moment. Then: "Okay. I'm not saying I'm comfortable with this. But I understand the logic. Just promise me you'll be careful. That you'll recognize if this protection starts looking like possession."
"That's why we have boundaries. Weekly check-ins. Exit clause. If it becomes control, I leave."
"And if leaving isn't safe by then? If you're so entangled that walking away creates more danger than staying?"
The question lands like prophecy. Dr. Cross would ask the same thing. Hell, I'm asking myself the same thing. At what point does accepting protection become dependent on it? When does surveillance become so normalized that I can't remember what privacy felt like?
"Then I'll have made bad decisions," I say quietly. "But right now, my choices are: accept Jax's protection with negotiated boundaries, or face Ezra and whoever else is watching me completely alone. The second option feels more dangerous than the first."
Solange nods, but her concern is visible. "Okay. But Lana? Keep me in the loop. If anything about this arrangement starts feeling wrong, tell me. Don't wait until it's too late to extract yourself."
"I won't. I promise."
We spend the rest of the afternoon working, but my focus is fractured. Every time my phone buzzes, I check to see if it's Jax—updates about tomorrow's meeting, information about Ezra's investigator, something that proves he meant what he said about transparency.
At 4:17 PM, my phone rings. Unknown number, but I recognize the area code. Legal district. My stomach drops before I even answer.
"Ms. Pope?" A woman's voice, professional but not unkind. "This is Sarah Chen from Blackwell & Associates. Malcolm Fielding asked me to reach out to you regarding Gabriel Pope's estate. Would you be available for a meeting this week?"
Blackwell & Associates. One of the most expensive estate litigation firms in Miramont. If Malcolm is bringing them in, the challenge to Gabriel's will is more serious than I thought.
"What's this regarding specifically?" I ask, keeping my voice neutral.
"I'd prefer to discuss details in person. But essentially, there are questions about the will's validity that need to be addressed. Mr. Fielding suggested we meet before any formal proceedings begin, see if we can resolve concerns without litigation."
Translation: They're giving me a chance to settle before they take me to court. An offer that sounds generous but is really just efficient case management. Settling means admitting there's something to settle.
"I'll need to consult my own attorney before agreeing to any meetings," I say.
"Of course. That's entirely appropriate." She sounds almost relieved, like she expected me to be difficult and I'm being reasonable instead. "If you could have your attorney contact me within the next few days, we can schedule something mutually convenient."
The call ends. I sit there holding my phone, feeling the walls close in.
I don't have an attorney. Malcolm Fielding was Gabriel's attorney, and he's now working with the firm challenging my inheritance. I need representation, need it quickly, and I have no idea where to start looking for someone who can fight Blackwell & Associates and win.
Solange is watching me. "Bad news?"
