Page 49 of His Verdict

I give a slow, deliberate nod. The memory is a cold stone in my gut—the bathroom, her whispered offer, the business card. My face is a carefully constructed mask of professional indifference.

"He did," she says, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. It's not a victory lap; it's a statement of fact. "He gave us everything.The meeting you were present for. The threats. The conspiracy surrounding Arthur Vance."

So, the other shoe finally dropped. This isn't a fishing expedition; it's a targeted strike. They leveraged the terror of one man to build a case, and now they're here to burn the empire down to its foundations.

"We have a warrant for all documents related to the Meridian acquisition," she continues, stepping fully into my office, her presence a violation of this sacred space. "Racketeering, extortion, and conspiracy to commit murder."

She softens her expression, a practiced, tactical shift. The predator soothing its prey before the kill. This is the pitch. "This is your exit ramp, Olivia. Right here, right now." Her eyes try to find a crack in my armor. "Walk out of here with us. This is the only way you get out from under him."

My gaze drifts past her, through the pristine glass of my office to the chaos unfolding beyond. A conquering army in navy blue, moving with brutal efficiency. Far below, the city lights are fractured by the strobing red and blue of their vehicles. She's offering me a door to another life. A gray, anonymous existence in witness protection, forever looking over my shoulder. A life without power. A life without him.

My mind doesn't race. It stills.

It achieves a perfect, cold clarity. There is no high-speed calculation. The math was done long ago.

I think of the names in his files—Amelia, Catherine, Isabelle. I think of my mother, a pawn he could sacrifice at any moment without a second thought. These aren't threats I need to escape. They are the rules of the game I chose to play.

Agent Jennings is watching me, waiting. She thinks she sees a victim, a brilliant lawyer trapped by a monster, just waiting for a hero to offer a hand. She’s looking at a ghost.

She has no fucking idea what I’ve become.

I take a slow breath, letting it fill my lungs with the cold, recycled air of the kingdom I helped build. I meet her gaze, and the woman who was Olivia Sutton—idealistic, frightened, breakable—dissolves into nothing.

“Agent Jennings,” I say, my voice as calm and sharp as shattered ice. “I have never been present for any discussion of illegal activities.” I let a beat of silence hang in the air, weighted and dangerous. “You and your agents have sixty seconds to vacate my office before I file a motion for damages against the federal government for this frivolous and theatrical display of harassment.”

I turn away from her, a dismissal more profound than any insult, and look toward my desk.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," I say over my shoulder, my voice leaving no room for argument.

Chapter 24

Agent Jennings stares at me, her mouth slightly agape. The professional, confident mask has slipped, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated shock. She was expecting tears. A desperate plea for help. She was not expecting a threat.

“You’re making a mistake, Olivia,” she whispers, her voice a low, dangerous warning. “A fatal one.”

“The only mistake being made here, Agent,” I reply, my own voice a blade of ice, “is your assumption that I am on your side.” I gesture vaguely at the chaos unfolding in the office behind her. “You can take the files. You’ll find nothing but a meticulously documented, perfectly legal corporate acquisition. Now get out of my office.”

She holds my gaze for a long, charged moment, a silent battle of wills fought across my desk. Then, something in her expression hardens, the pity and concern replaced by a cold, prosecutorial fury. She has reclassified me in her mind. I am no longer a victim to be saved. I am a target to be destroyed.

“Very well, Ms. Sutton,” she says, her voice dripping with venom. “Have it your way. But know this: this isn't over. Not by a long shot.”

She turns and stalks out of my office, a general retreating from a lost battle, already planning the next war.

The raid continues for another hour. It’s a performative violation—agents moving with calculated aggression, boxingup servers and files with a theatrical seriousness meant to intimidate. They will find nothing. Jasper is too meticulous.

When the last agent is gone and a fragile quiet descends, I pick up my private line. It rings three times, each one stretching my nerves tighter.

He answers on the fourth ring. "Yes?"

His voice is calm. Too calm.

"They were here," I say, my own voice tight. "The Feds. They took everything related to Meridian."

There's a pause. Not of surprise, but of calculation. "I know. I received word earlier."

Of course he did. The cold knot of unease in my stomach tightens.

"Is this... under control?" I ask, hating the tremor of need in my question.