Chapter 14: The Calm Before
The victory at Precision Components and the deepening understanding with Eleanor created a pocket of unexpected peace. For two weeks, life settled into a rhythm that felt almost normal. Jason Miller was conspicuously absent, rumors swirling of a "family trip" meant to let things cool down. The constant tension that had thrummed beneath Elias's skin since his return began to ease.
He used the calm to build. The seven hundred and fifty dollars was a tangible proof of concept, far more satisfying than any future stock tip. He and Carl Croft formalized their partnership, with Elias taking on more complex jobs under the Croft & Associates banner. The work was challenging, legitimate, and built a reputation that felt earned.
His evenings were no longer spent hunched over financial charts alone. More often than not, he was at Eleanor's kitchen table, their textbooks spread out between them. Catherine Shaw would bring them glasses of iced tea, her presence a quiet, approving constant. The domesticity of it was a balm. This was the life he had missed. This was the life he was fighting for.
One such evening, as they took a break from studying, Eleanor looked at him, her head tilted. "You're quieter lately."
"Just... content," he said, and the truth of it surprised him. The driven, restless energy that had defined both his lives had mellowed into a steady, purposeful focus.
"It suits you," she said with a soft smile. "The calm."
But Elias knew calm was a temporary state. A king could never fully let down his guard. His success was a beacon, and beacons attracted attention, both good and bad.
The other shoe dropped on a Friday. He was finalizing the setup for the first Digital Bridge workshop when his father, Michael, called him into the living room, his face pale.
"Eli," his father began, his voice strained. "I got a call today. From the IRS."
Elias's blood ran cold. This was not Jason's style. This was cleaner, more bureaucratic. More like his father.
"They're launching an audit," Michael continued, running a hand through his hair. "A random review, they said. But the timing... it's right after you started bringing in all this cash. They're asking questions about your business, about where the money's coming from. They mentioned something about potential structuring to avoid reporting thresholds."
It was a classic move. Use the weight of the system to crush a small target. An audit would tie up his father's time, generate legal fees, and cast a shadow of suspicion over their family. It was an attack on their stability, their peace. It was an attack on the calm.
Elias felt the old, cold fury rising, but he banked it. He could not let his father see it.
"I'll handle it, Dad," he said, his voice calm and sure. "It's just paperwork. My business is legitimate. All the income is documented. We have nothing to hide."
He spent the weekend assembling every receipt, every contract, every bank statement. He created a meticulous paper trail that would satisfy even the most skeptical agent. It was a defensive action, a necessary one, but it felt like a step backward into the shadows of his past life.
He couldn't tell Eleanor the truth. He couldn't burden her with this new threat, not when she was finally breathing easily. So, he told her his father's accounting firm was undergoing a routine review and he was helping to organize files. It was a half-truth that tasted like ash on his tongue.
The following Monday, as he walked Eleanor to her car, he saw it again. The familiar Jeep, parked just off school property. Jason was back, leaning against the hood. He didn't approach. He didn't speak. He just watched them, a smug, knowing look on his face.
He didn't need to throw a punch or make a threat. The message was clear: *I can reach you anywhere. I can touch your family. The calm is over.*
Eleanor followed his gaze, her hand tightening on his arm. "Eli?"
"It's nothing," he said, forcing a smile. "Just Jason being Jason."
But as he drove home alone, the calm of the past weeks shattered. The foundation was solid, but the ground beneath it was being shaken. Robert Miller had made his move, and it was more sophisticated, more insidious than anything his son could have conceived. The war was no longer contained to the school. It had just come home.