Chapter 6
The day cornered Mara before 8:12 a.m. Not with force—Adrian Blackwood’s penthouse had too much glass, too much money, for anything so crude. But other traps existed. A text from his mother’s office, clipped and formal. An urgent note from Blackwood legal, arriving with the cold precision of a subpoena. And the breakfast table itself, colder than a courtroom: bone-white china, untouched citrus, and a leather folio beside Adrian’s coffee like an exhibit no one had yet entered into evidence.
Adrian came into the dining room without haste. He carried the stillness of someone used to making space obey him. Dark suit. Unreadable face. No greeting—only a brief nod before he took the chair opposite her. The distance between them felt less like a table than a line drawn for argument. He set one hand on the folio. The leather gave a small, sharp creak in the silence.
“Eleanor wants to fast-track the public announcement,” he said, voice low and stripped clean. “And legal has flagged Section 4.1.C for immediate review.”
Mara