Chapter 144
Lena's POV
"Both."
The word hung in the air of my makeshift war room, final as a gavel strike. On the laptop screen, Emily's eyebrows shot up. Through the wall, I heard Rowan's chair scrape against the floor—he'd been listening, of course. Waiting.
"Walk me through it," Emily said, her therapist voice clicking into place. Calm. Steady. The voice she used when clients teetered on the edge of decisions that couldn't be undone.
I pulled up the timeline I'd been building while they'd all been talking, color-coded and cross-referenced. My hands were steady on the trackpad. That surprised me more than it should have.
"We don't choose A or B. We execute both strategies in sequence." I highlighted the first phase. "Diana coordinates with the FBI and Interpol immediately. Full cooperation, sealed filings, the works. That buys us operational security—Marcus won't know we're coming."
"And the statement?" Emily leaned closer to her camera.
"Gets finalized but not released. Not until—" I switched to the second timeline. "The moment the arrest warrant is signed, I hold a press conference. Read the statement myself. Control the narrative before Marcus or his lawyers can spin it."
Emily was quiet for three seconds. I counted them, my pulse ticking in my throat.
"That's not both strategies," she said finally. "That's a third option."
"It's the only option that doesn't make me choose between safety and agency." The words came out sharper than I'd intended. I softened my tone. "This time, I'm making the call. All of it."
Through my laptop speakers, I heard Diana's sharp intake of breath. Then her voice, crisp with approval: "I can work with that. Jack's already liaising with the federal task force. If we move tonight, we could have the warrant by morning."
"Do it." I was already pulling up my statement draft, scanning the sections that would need last-minute updates. "I'll have the final version ready in six hours."
"Lena—" Emily started.
"I know what you're going to say." I cut her off, but gently. "That I need to sleep. That I should take a break. But Emily, if I stop now, if I let myself think about what I'm about to do—" My throat closed around the rest of the sentence.
"Then don't think," she said quietly. "Just work. I'll check in every two hours."
The video calls ended one by one. Diana first, already barking orders at Rachel in the background. Then Alexander, promising to have the asset freezing motions ready by dawn. Emily lingered longest, her face pixelated but concerned, before finally clicking off with a reminder to drink water.
The silence that followed felt like a held breath.
I heard Rowan's footsteps in the hallway. Measured. Careful. He stopped just outside my door—I could see his shadow break the line of light at the threshold.
"Come in," I said, before he could knock.
He pushed the door open slowly, as if I might change my mind. His hair was disheveled, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and there were new lines around his eyes I hadn't noticed before. How long had he been awake? How many nights had I not asked?
"You heard all that," I said. Not a question.
"You wanted me to." He stayed near the door, hands loose at his sides. No encroachment. No invasion of the space I'd carved out around my desk. "It's a good plan."
I waited for the but. The gentle suggestion that would actually be a directive. The reframing that would put him back in control.
It didn't come.
"I'm scared," I admitted, and the words felt like stepping off a cliff. "What if the warrant doesn't come through in time? What if Marcus runs before—"
"Then we chase him." Rowan moved closer, but stopped at the edge of my desk. "Kenneth's already coordinating with contacts in Luxembourg and the Caymans. If Marcus tries to move money or cross borders, we'll know."
"You called your father?"
"An hour ago." He rubbed the back of his neck, a tell I'd learned meant he was uncertain. "I should have asked first. But I thought—time was—" He stopped. Started again. "I can call him back. Tell him to stand down. If you want to handle it differently."
I stared at him. Two months ago—hell, two weeks ago—Rowan Reynolds had never second-guessed a tactical decision in his life. He'd have called Kenneth, mobilized half of Silverton's elite, and presented me with a fait accompli wrapped in assurances of protection.
Now he stood in my doorway, shoulders tight with the effort of holding himself back, waiting for permission.
"No," I said slowly. "Kenneth's involvement is smart. We need every resource we can get."
"Okay." He let out a breath. "What else do you need?"
You, my traitorous brain supplied. I need you to tell me this is going to work. I need you to promise Marcus will pay for what he did. I need—
"Coffee," I said instead. "And whatever Martha left in the fridge. I skipped dinner."
"I'll bring it up." He was already turning toward the door.
"Rowan."
He stopped. Looked back.
"Thank you. For asking. Instead of just… doing."
Something complicated moved across his face—regret, maybe, or recognition of all the times he hadn't asked. He nodded once, sharp and controlled, then disappeared into the hallway.
---
The next six hours blurred into a montage of hypervigilant focus.
1:47 AM: My fingers flying across the keyboard, refining the statement's opening paragraph. Seventeen drafts of the same sentence: I was seven years old when my father first— Delete. The abuse began when— Delete. This statement is not an act of courage. It's an act of survival.
That one stayed.
2:33 AM: Rowan's knock, soft against the doorframe. A tray with soup, bread, and coffee that smelled like the dark roast I'd mentioned once, months ago, that I actually preferred over the breakfast blend we'd always kept in the house. He set it down without comment, but I caught the way his gaze lingered on the screen before he retreated.
3:15 AM: Diana's text: Warrant application submitted. Judge reviewing now. Federal prosecutor says 90% chance of approval by 6 AM.
My hands shook so badly I had to set down my coffee.
4:02 AM: Rachel's email with the press conference logistics: Reserved the main conference room at the Silverton Press Club. Sent invites to 23 major outlets + local news. Live stream set up. You'll have a podium, two mics, and a white backdrop. Emily and Diana will be on either side. Do you want Rowan in the room?
I typed back: Ask him.
4:51 AM: Jack's encrypted message to the group thread: Marcus still in Zurich. No movement in 8 hours. Kenneth's team has eyes on his building. We'll know the second he tries to leave.
5:20 AM: I walked to the bathroom, splashed water on my face, and caught my reflection in the mirror. Pale. Shadows under my eyes that no concealer would hide. Hair pulled back in a knot so tight my scalp ached.
I looked like someone about to walk into a courtroom.
Good.