"I want to swap the labels. Not the jars. Just the labels. Cumin says paprika. Oregano says cinnamon. Garlic powder says nutmeg. Every single one." The room goes still.
"James," East says. "That's the most evil thing anyone's said today."
"She'll reach for garlic and get nutmeg," Nash says. "Mid-recipe. In front of people."
"She'll think she's losing her mind," I add.
James nods. Calm. Measured. A man who has studied his target and found the surgical point. "She'll figure it out after the second ruined dish. But those two dishes will haunt her."
East grins. "Welcome to the war, old man."
"I've been in wars," James says. "I just prefer to win quietly."
East claps once. "So we've got forty-seven Tom Joneses, a rubber duck invasion, a petting zoo magnet, a rolling shrine to my body, dinosaur scrubs, sabotaged spices, and Kyle running logistics because that kid will do anything if you hand him a clipboard. All on the same day. No staggering. We hit them all at once and let the chaos overlap."
"And we don't take credit," I add. "They confessed through laughter. We deny everything."
Nash nods. "Deny with sincerity."
"With commitment," East corrects.
Malachi surveys the room one more time. Peonies. Lace. The golden retriever on the vision board stares back at him with unconditional optimism.
"Fine," he says. "But if this goes wrong, I'm blaming all of you."
"Noted," East says. "But before we celebrate our genius, Knox has something."
The room shifts. Chairs scrape as we settle in, lace bows pressing into our backs. Hard to talk strategy surrounded by peonies, but we do it.
East flicks a tea light. The flame wobbles. "Psychological warfare. I feel mocked."
"You are mocked," Malachi says. "Stay focused."
"I found something." I was up half the night pulling threads, and the screen glow is still sitting behind my eyes. "Paper trail. Shell accounts tied to municipal development grants. Mercer's name isn't on them directly, but the signatures trace back to his office."
"How recent?"
"Active. And sloppy."
James nods. "That tracks."
Malachi drums his fingers once, sharp against the pastel plastic. "Phoenix is in. Quietly. Amelia and Felix too. Already shifting things."
East straightens off the wall. "Shifting how?"
"Changing the structure. Who gets bought. Why. What happens after. Cutting the rot piece by piece. But men in Mercer's position?" His mouth tightens. "They don't bend."
"They resist," James says.
"They sabotage. Keep operating in the dark and pretend the rules don't apply."
"Which means Phoenix won't protect him," I say.
"No. He'll help end him. However that needs to happen."
Silence. Understanding.
"So this isn't about reform," East says. "It's about control."
