Page 328 of Reaper Said Mine

Damn him.

It is clean.

Infuriatingly clean.

The endowment language is tighter than I expected. Independent trustees from five jurisdictions. Public disclosures. Firewalls. No donor influence. Automatic publication of any attempted interference. A clause specifically stating that contributions from Guyver Station confer no editorial control, political privilege, or review access.

Another clause requires any future financial backer to accept the same terms.

My throat tightens despite myself.

“You had Milton write this.”

Gnash’s mouth twitches. “He called me a terrifying funding source with redeemable instincts.”

“That sounds like Milton.”

“He also said if I attempted editorial interference, he would sue me until my grandchildren felt subpoenaed.”

“You don’t have grandchildren.”

“I chose not to correct him. He looked happy.”

I read the document again because trust deserves verification, even when love is present.

Especially then.

“This is a lot of money,” I say quietly.

“Yes.”

“Too much.”

“No.”

I look up.

Gnash stands across the table, enormous and calm, with the market moving behind him. For once, he does not look like a man braced for the next attack. He looks tired, yes, because the work of rebuilding is its own kind of war, but he also looks grounded in a way I have not seen before. Revenge no longer stands behind his eyes demanding a target. Power is still there, but it has changed posture.

“I spent years taking from trade because taking was the only model I trusted,” he says. “Now trade is returning because people believe this place can be more than a raider’s den or a battlefield. If we profit from stability, we invest in the thing that helps keep us honest.”

My chest aches.

“That was dangerously close to eloquent.”

“I have been practicing.”

“On whom?”

“Skahar.”

Skahar makes a disgusted noise. “I suffer for the future.”

I look back at the slate. “Open Signal cannot be your redemption project.”

“It is not.”

His voice quiets.