Victor Hale didn't notice me at first.He was swirling his drink, eyes distant, as if calculating figures in his head. I took the seat beside him without asking.
"Mr. Hale," I began smoothly, "you're about to make the worst business decision of your life."
That got his attention. His gaze shifted to me, sharp and suspicious. "Do I know you?"
"Not yet," I said, leaning my elbows on the bar. "But you know the Blackwells. And I know they've been lying to you about the numbers."
His expression hardened. "If you're here to badmouth my associates—"
"They're not your associates. They're your undertakers."
Silence. Then, a flicker of curiosity. "And you're what? My savior?"
I smiled faintly. "No. I'm the warning before the storm. But if you listen, I could also be the reason you survive it."
I told him everything—the quiet bankruptcy filings the Blackwells were trying to hide, the offshore account transfers bleeding his investment dry, the lawsuit that would drag his name through the mud in three months. Details only someone with deep, dangerous connections could know.
By the time I finished, Victor's glass sat untouched, condensation dripping onto the counter."You're saying Cross can protect me," he said finally.
"I'm saying Cross will protect you… if you walk away now and bring him what you know."
He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "You're a bold one. And dangerous."
I didn't deny it.
When I stood to leave, he caught my wrist—not roughly, but firmly. "Tell Cross I'll be in touch. And tell him…" He studied me for a moment, like he was deciding whether I was real. "…he chose the right messenger."
I returned to Damien's table. He didn't speak at first, just stared at me with an unreadable expression. Finally, he said, "You don't play games, do you?"
"I play," I replied, taking my seat. "I just play to win."
For the first time that night, Damien smiled—not his usual sharp, predatory smirk, but something smaller. Quieter. Like I'd just shifted something in his mind.
The test was over. And I'd passed.