Page 56 of His Verdict
This is the hook. The part where I use Jasper’s own playbook against them.
“In exchange for your unwavering loyalty and your testimony, your families will be protected. Permanently. Your substantial shares in the newly formed company are guaranteed in perpetuity. You will walk away from this not just free men, but very, very wealthy men.” I let a beat of silence pass before I deliver the final, unspoken part of the deal. The stick that accompanies the carrot. “The alternative, of course, is that you take your chances with the federal government. And with Mr. Wolfe’s… disappointment.”
"And you don't need to worry about their star witness," I add, my voice dropping into a low, confidential murmur that isfar more threatening than a shout. "Trust that he will be taken care of. Very shortly."
The implication hangs in the silent, velvet-draped room, as heavy and lethal as a loaded gun on the table. I see the understanding—and the terror—dawn in their eyes. The fight goes out of them. I see it in their shoulders, the way they slump back into their chairs, the resignation in their eyes. They are trapped. I have offered them the only viable path to survival. They know it.
Morrison nods slowly, his face ashen. “You’ll draft the statements?”
“They’re already drafted,” I say, sliding a slim folder across the table. “You have five minutes to sign.”
They don’t bother hesitating. When it’s all said and done, I feel a chill running up my spine.
I stand up. The meeting is over. I have won. For the first time since this nightmare began, I feel a surge of pure, unadulterated power. It's an addictive thrill.
I walk out of the Rhapsody Lounge and into the cold night air, feeling more alive than I have in months.
The feeling lasts until I get back to the penthouse.
He is waiting for me.
He’s standing in the middle of the living room, a dark silhouette against the glittering city lights. The moment I step out of the elevator and into the private foyer, I feel it. A rage so cold and so absolute it changes the temperature of the air. Thisisn’t the resigned anger he showed his father. This is a visceral, personal fury, and it is aimed directly at me.
“Where were you?” he asks. His voice is dangerously quiet.
I close the door behind me, my heart starting a slow, heavy drumbeat of apprehension. I square my shoulders. I will not be cowed. Not now.
“I was handling a problem,” I say, my voice steady. I walk past him and set my purse down on the console table. “The executives. I met with them. I secured their testimony. They’re going to perjure themselves and back a story that Vance died of a heart attack. The Feds’ case is dead.”
I turn to face him, a triumphant, challenging look in my eyes. I am expecting… I don’t know what I am expecting. Reluctant approval? A grudging respect?
What I get is a predator stalking toward me.
He closes the distance between us in three long, silent strides. He doesn’t stop until he’s invaded my personal space, forcing me to tilt my head back to look up at him. His face is a mask of cold fury. His eyes are black pits.
“You did this,” he says, his voice a low, lethal growl, “without asking me.”
The accusation hangs between us. The air crackles. The triumph drains out of me, replaced by a surge of defiant anger.
“You were busy,” I retort, my chin jutting out. “And it needed to be done. I saw a problem and I solved it. I thought that’s what you wanted. Someone who could think like you.”
“What I want,” he snarls, his hand shooting out to grip my upper arm, his fingers digging into my flesh like talons, “is to not have to second-guess every single move made in my own goddamn organization. You went behind my back, Olivia. You made deals on my behalf. You acted as if you run this company.”
“I’m the one who stood up to the Feds! I am the one who just neutralized their only viable witnesses!” I fire back, trying to twist out of his grip, but he’s impossibly strong.
“You are the one I had to bleed for five days ago!” he roars, his control finally snapping. He shoves me backward, and I stumble, catching myself against the wall. His face is inches from mine, his eyes blazing with a raw, possessive fury I have never seen before. “My father put a gun to your head, and I put myself in front of it. I took a beating to keep you breathing. And your response is to go behind my back and start your own side operation? Did you think for one second what would have happened if it had gone wrong? If one of them had been wearing a wire? You didn’t just risk yourself, you riskedeverything!”
“I was careful!” I scream, my voice raw with the frustration and fear and rage of the last week. “You can’t stand that I made a move on my own, that I didn’t come crawling to you for instructions!”
“You belong to me!” he bellows, his fist slamming into the wall right beside my head. The impact shudders through my bones. “Your moves are my moves! Your decisions are my decisions! I own your loyalty. I own your safety. I ownyou!”
The words hit me harder than his fist ever could. The raw, brutal truth of his perception of our relationship, laid bare in the middle of our screaming match.
All the fight suddenly drains out of me, replaced by a cold, devastating calm. I stop struggling. I look him straight in the eye, my own gaze unflinching.
“Is that what I am, Jasper?” I ask, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “After all of this?”
He stares back at me, his chest heaving, his jaw clenched, the fury in his eyes warring with something else, something I can’t quite name. The question hangs between us, the one, true question that has been lurking in the shadows since the day I met him.