The restaurant was small and discreet. Joseph’s team had swept it hours earlier, mapping exits, sightlines, and positioning security subtle enough to preserve the illusion of normalcy.Charlie arrived first, taking a corner table with a clear view of the entrance. Daniel followed, moving with only a hint of stiffness. His physical recovery was nearly complete, though the psychological scars still showed in brief pauses, careful glances. He looked healthier than he had in months.“Fancy meeting you here,” Daniel said, sitting down. “Almost like we planned it.”“Friends having dinner without federal prosecutors present,” Charlie replied. “Radical idea.”“The bar for normal life is subterranean.” Daniel skimmed the menu. “I’m ordering the most expensive thing because you’re paying.”“You hate seafood.”“Then I’ll hate it expensively.”Jacy arrived next, apologizing for a board member who’d insisted on discussing quarterly projections. She looked tired but composed. Cindy joined soon afte

“Your grandfather spoke to you about Cross,” Joseph said as Charlie approached the car.It wasn’t a question. It never was.“Yes,” Charlie replied. “He wants Cross removed as a factor.”Joseph opened the rear door, waiting until Charlie was seated before responding. “That aligns with my assessment. Cross’s behavior indicates he’ll continue attempting influence as long as he has access to people. Standard custody won’t stop him.”They pulled away from the facility, tires whispering over immaculate pavement. The building receded in the tinted glass. A place for healing. Or containment, depending on perspective.“Administrative segregation?” Charlie asked.“Yes. Long-term. A facility where communications are monitored to the point of meaninglessness. No favors. No leverage.” Joseph’s voice remained even. “He’d exist, but he wouldn’t operate.”Charlie stared out the window. “That’s solitary confinement.”“Administrative segregation,” Joseph corrected gently. “Language matters. So do outco

Saturday arrived with unseasonable warmth, early March temperatures suggesting spring might arrive ahead of schedule. Charlie met his friends at the Metropolitan Museum's main entrance, where crowds of tourists and art enthusiasts created the kind of anonymous bustle that made security concerns feel less oppressive.Joseph had positioned his team discretely, but close enough to respond to threats, and distant enough to maintain the illusion of normalcy. Charlie spotted two agents in the lobby, another near the coat check, but they blended effectively into the museum's general population.Daniel arrived wearing a jacket that hung slightly loose on his still-recovering frame. Jacy appeared moments later, dressed casually in a way that suggested genuine effort to separate from her corporate persona. Cindy completed their group, carrying a small notebook she'd apparently brought to jot down observations about art and therapeutic applications."This feels almost normal," Daniel observed as

March slid toward April, time moving too fast and not fast enough. As Cross’s trial loomed, Charlie stayed buried in corporate demands that refused to pause for justice.At the board meeting, Richard Caldwell launched another challenge—this time over international expansion. Charlie dismantled it cleanly, backing his strategy with Emily’s data and making Caldwell look misinformed, not brave. The Asian expansion passed seven to three. Caldwell voted no, isolated and visibly bitter.After the meeting, Emily caught Charlie’s arm. “Caldwell’s recruiting,” she said quietly. “He’s sounding out the board—trying to replace you with interim leadership.”"On what grounds?""Age, inexperience, the security incidents. He's arguing you're a liability despite performance metrics." Emily's expression was grim. "He doesn't have the votes yet, but he's building toward something.""Let him try. The numbers support my leadership, and most board members aren't interested in disruption without cause.""Ju

Cross’s sentencing hearing occurred three weeks later in the same courtroom where his conviction had been delivered. The space looked unchanged—same polished wood, same flags, same seal behind the bench but the energy was different. Thinner. The gallery was less packed than during trial; the media had mostly moved on, attention siphoned away by fresher scandals and louder villains. This was no longer a story unfolding. It was a conclusion being recorded. Charlie attended alone. Joseph was present, unobtrusive as ever, occupying a seat that allowed him to see everything without being seen. Still, the hearing felt solitary in a way the trial never had. Cross was brought in ten minutes late.The delay was procedural, insignificant on paper, but it drew every eye in the room. When he finally appeared, escorted by two guards, it was immediately clear that isolation had not been kind.Three additional weeks in supermax had accelerated his deterioration with ruthless efficiency. He was th