Page 67 of Ascension

Me: Under threat. Someone’s been sniffing around. I need eyes on Caleb Black Sr.

Ledger: The old man? What’s he done now, trip over his pride and blame the help?

Me: Worse. He came to my office uninvited, saying too much, knowing just enough to be dangerous.

There was a pause.

The Midnight Ledger was someone whose line of sight you never wanted to be in. Lennox Jackson was a tech genius, which meant if you were rich and famous and dabbled in the immoral underground, he was your worst nightmare because if you had a skeleton in your closet, he was sure to have a bone or two locked away for safekeeping.

The Midnight Ledger: Tell me everything.

So I did—every word. From the fake kindness he wielded like a blade, to the moment he flashed those photos of me outside Provocateur. When I finished, the dots pulsed on the screen for a long time before his reply came through.

The Midnight Ledger: He’s fishing. If he had proof you’re Dahlia, you wouldn’t have heard a threat; you’d have heard an offer, better yet, a demand.

Me: He said he’s been having me followed.

The Midnight Ledger: Then I’ll find the tail, and I’ll see where your father is getting the money to pay them.

I leaned back, letting his words sink in. Lennox didn’t deal in maybes. If he said he’d find them, he would.

Me: Something about this doesn’t add up, Lennox. He tanked his own company years ago. He’s been cut out of Black Enterprises completely. Why crawl out of the grave now?

Ledger: Maybe he wants redemption. Maybe revenge. Or perhaps someone’s paying him to stir the pot.

I tapped my fingers against the desk, irritation rising.

Me: Find out which. I don’t want whispers; I want paper trails, offshore accounts, burner phones, all of it, any chaos happening in his private life. I want his rot exposed.

Ledger: Now you’re speaking my language. Consider it done. I’ll start with his known associates and the corporate vultures he’s been circling. You’ll have a dossier within forty-eight hours.

Me: Make it twenty-four.

Ledger: You really do miss me when I’m gone, huh?

I allowed myself a small smirk.

Me: I miss efficiency. Please don’t make me regret calling you.

Ledger: When have I ever failed to make good on my guarantees? I’ll see you in 24, I’ll send the location, and when I’m done, you’ll owe me dinner.

I closed the app before he could add something suggestive. For all his darkness, Lennox was reliable, the kind of man who could make a federal agent disappear with a shrug and a keystroke, all while hiding in plain sight.

I stared out the window again, watching the skyline sharpen under the noon sun. Sr. thought he could scare me with threats and half-truths.

He had no idea who he was dealing with.

I built my power in shadows, and when men like him came for me, I didn’t run.

I hunted. I thrived off turning the predator into my prey.

As promised, twenty-four hours later, Lennox Jackson strolled into my office like the devil clocked in early.

No knock, no hesitation, just that quiet confidence that filled a room before his words ever did.

He was dressed in smoke, the charcoal-gray suit, black shirt, no tie kind of look that whispered danger wrapped in precision. The only sound was the door closing behind him and the soft slide of a leather dossier hitting my desk.

“Miss me?” he asked, leaning on the corner of my desk like he belonged there.