Val didn't say a word about her conversation with her father when I got home, and I didn't mention the late-night call I'd made to Tasha either.

Not out of secrecy… but because the weight hanging over both of us felt like something we needed to bring to Trent first, before anyone else.

When I stepped through the front door, Val was already downstairs, dressed and waiting.

She'd switched out her work clothes for something clean, sharp, but relaxed—an off-white knit top tucked into dark fitted jeans, a lightweight navy jacket over her shoulders, and her hair tied up with that quiet, no-nonsense precision she only used when she was preparing for something serious.

She had also laid out clothes for me on the couch: a black button-down, sleeves already folded neatly at the elbows, and gray fitted trousers.

"You're fast," I said, shutting the door behind me.

Val didn't smile. Not really. Just a soft tightening at the corner of her lips—focus, not ease.

> "I didn't want to waste time. Go change. I'll wait."

I nodded and headed upstairs.

My mind kept circling the fact that she didn't look overwhelmed… just controlled. Like she'd packed everything away into a corner of herself until she could hand it to Trent in one piece.

And maybe that was why I didn't say anything about Tasha. One thing at a time.

When I got back downstairs in the clothes she chose, Val looked me up and down once, assessing, then reached out and straightened the fold of my sleeve by the slightest inch.

"Perfect," she murmured.

No smile.

Just precision.

She picked up her bag, I grabbed my keys, and we stepped out.

The air outside felt heavier than usual. Maybe because the next few hours were going to decide whether this entire situation with Lucien was paranoia… or a detonator waiting to blow up their Meridian account, Moreau Dynamics, and possibly every domino tied to it.

The drive to CCG wasn't long, but neither of us spoke. She stared out the window most of the time, one hand curled lightly on her thigh, thumb tracing small circles she probably didn't even realize she was making.

I caught her reflection once—her brow drawn, the faintest crease in the middle.

"Val," I said quietly as we reached the traffic light before Cole Capital Group's main tower, "we'll figure it out."

She didn't look at me immediately.

Then she did.

"I know," she said softly. "I just… want answers."

I reached over and squeezed her hand—not lingering, just grounding.

She squeezed back once.

By the time we turned into the CCG parking area, the sun had dipped behind the upper structure of the building, casting long shadows across the lines of parked cars. Cole Capital Group was a glass giant—sleek, polished, and intentionally intimidating, the kind of place that whispered:

only heavy decisions happen here.

I parked in one of the visitor executive slots Trent had sent us.

Val exhaled slowly, almost soundlessly. Not nerves. Preparation.

I turned to her.

"You ready?"

She looked straight ahead at the building for a moment before nodding.

> "Ready."

I stepped out of the car with the quiet, certain feeling that whatever we learned inside Trent Maxwell Cole's office…

Would change the direction of everything that came after.

---

CCG's upper floors always felt too polished—glass everywhere, chrome details, the kind of air-conditioning that made you feel like the building itself was assessing your worth as you walked through it.

Val and I stepped out of the elevator and down the short hallway toward Trent's office. His nameplate—Trent Maxwell Cole, Executive Director, Business Development—sat beside the glass door.

I knocked once.

] "Come in!"

His voice carried that familiar confident lift, the same one he used whenever he was about to tease someone.

I pushed the door open.

Trent stood from behind his desk, jacket off, tie slightly loosened, sleeves rolled up. Very typical Trent—professional, but only to a point.

] "Kai," he said with a grin, then nodded at Val with something closer to respect. "Celestia."

"Trent," she greeted, calm but polite.

He waved us in before we even reached the chairs. "You two made good time."

Val closed the door behind us, and Trent motioned casually toward the seats across from his desk.

I sat, leaning back in the chair as Val settled beside me.

"Marina around?" I asked. "Haven't seen her in forever."

Trent snorted. "Busy. She's prepping for that logistics audit at the end of the month. If she were here, trust me, she'd already have hijacked this meeting."

Val gave a small, knowing smile. "That sounds like her."

"Exactly why I'm enjoying the peace while it lasts," Trent said, propping an elbow on the armrest.

Val exhaled with a tiny breath of amusement. "How's she doing?"

That softened him. His posture dropped a little—not slouched, just… less formal.

"She's good. She's actually better than good. Busy, irritated, dramatic—meaning completely normal," he said. "She misses you two, by the way. She said if you don't come by soon, she'll steal you for herself."

I made a face. "Tell her that's kidnapping."

Trent snorted. "She says you're overdue for it."

Val shook her head with a quieter smile. "Tell her we'll come see her soon."

"I will," Trent said, but then his expression sharpened. "Now… I assume you're not here to ask about her baking schedule."

"No," Val said, pulling the folder from her bag.

She set it on his desk.

The air in the room shifted instantly—like the moment before a storm fully breaks open.

"What's this?" Trent asked, pulling it toward him.

"Prometheus Acquisition Index," Val said. "We found it yesterday. Lucien signed it."

Trent's brows rose halfway up his forehead. "He signed this?"

"Yes," she said.

He didn't open it immediately. He just tapped the cover once with his finger, thinking.

"I've heard of this," he finally murmured. "Heard about it from a partner at another firm. Didn't think I'd ever see one tied to Moreau Dynamics of all places."

"What exactly is it?" I asked.

Trent opened the file and skimmed the first few pages, jaw tightening.

"It's not an investment contract," he said. "It's a transfer index."

"Transfer of what?" Val asked.

He looked up at her. "Ownership. Rights. Shares. Influence. Basically—whatever the signer puts up as collateral becomes vulnerable to reassignment."

Val's spine straightened. "You're saying…"

"It's a mechanism, Celestia," Trent explained, tapping the page. "A tool to quietly shift control into someone else's hands without making it obvious. Vanguard Ark has used structures like this for years. They make it look like routine restructuring, then—bam—control changes hands without people realizing it until it's too late."

My stomach sank.

"That aligns," Val said quietly. "My father told me Benjamin Otavio has a… reputation."

Trent's expression stilled. "Your father knows him?"

"He knows of him," she corrected. "Fraudster with legal backing. And connections where it matters."

I turned to her sharply.

"You told your dad?"

She didn't look at me—just kept her gaze on Trent.

"I didn't tell him everything," she said. "Just that Vanguard Ark might be involved. He asked who told me, and I said a friend. That's all."

I didn't push.

Not here.

Not yet.

Trent leaned back in his chair, rubbing the side of his jaw.

"Okay," he said finally. "Let's break this down. If Lucien signed this—knowingly or not—it means he designated something as leverage. Something that could be transferred. And if Vanguard Ark is involved…"

"It's not something small," Val finished.

"No," Trent said. "Never small."

He flipped another page, scanning silently before nodding once in a tight, grim way.

"There's no company reference here," he continued. "No department, no project name, nothing tied directly to MD. But that doesn't mean he didn't use his personal standing as collateral."

"And his personal standing is tied to MD," I said.

Trent snapped his fingers once. "Exactly."

Val slowly exhaled.

> "So what does that mean in the worst-case scenario?"

Trent closed the file and set it down with deliberate care. That alone told me how bad this could get.

"Kai," he said, "if I were guessing? Lucien may have just sold or promised part of his personal shares to Vanguard Ark. And if Otavio plays the way I think he plays…"

He looked at Val.

"Those shares won't be his anymore. And Moreau Dynamics won't even see it coming."

Everything inside me tightened.

"That doesn't make sense," Val whispered. "He wouldn't—he can't—he knows what's at stake."

Trent didn't speak for a moment.

Then quietly—

] "Pressure makes people stupid."

Val's jaw clenched.

"And Lucien's been under too much of it for too long," I said.

She didn't argue.

Trent let out a slow breath.

"Look," he said. "We can't confirm anything yet. Not without access to Vanguard Ark's internal records or Lucien's personal communications. But based on this file?" He tapped it again. "This is the kind of paper someone signs when they're desperate… or being manipulated."

Val sank back in her chair, her hands resting still on her knees.

Not shaking.

Not panicking.

Just… absorbing.

"What do you need from me?" Trent asked softly.

Val didn't look at him right away.

Then she straightened her shoulders.

"Help us understand exactly how bad this could get," she said. "And how to stop it."

Trent nodded once, solid and certain. "I'll start digging tonight."

I exhaled, but there was nothing relieved about it.

Because the truth was hanging in the room like cold air—

Lucien Davis Moreau might have already sold his shares of Moreau Dynamics.

To Benjamin Otavio.

And none of us knew why.

Trent closed the folder and slid it back toward Val.

"We're not done," he said quietly. "Not even close."

Val nodded.

And one thought lodged in my mind like a warning:

Whatever Lucien had started…

We were already late getting ahead of it.

---

To be continued...

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